The Manipulation of Julian Bashir
by The Tystie
Summary: When you have lived a lie for over half your life, how do you cope when the truth comes out? A story about Julian Bashir, set in season 5.
1. Chapter 1

**The Manipulation of Julian Bashir**

By The Tystie

**SUMMARY:** When you have lived a lie for over half your life, how do you cope when the truth comes out? A story about Julian Bashir, set in season 5.

**SPOILERS:** Big spoilers for "Dr Bashir, I Presume", slightly smaller spoilers for "In Purgatory's Shadow" and "By Inferno's Light", and minor spoilers and references to lots of other episodes.

**TIMELINE:** Set during Season 5, turning slightly AU after "Dr Bashir, I Presume".

**WARNINGS:** _The Manipulation of Julian Bashir_ contains a few sweary words, a little violence, a lot of made up law, and a large number of minor canon and original characters. Also, it is ridiculously long.

**DISCLAIMER:** Paramount and CBS own Star Trek. I am making no money from this.

-=o=-

**Chapter One**

Fifty-two hours ago, Julian Bashir had been healthy and cheerful. Now, as he held out a PADD to Captain Sisko, he looked worn. "My report, Captain." Fifty-two hours ago, Deep Space Nine's Chief Medical Officer had been an impostor, a Changeling, and the man currently standing in front of Benjamin Sisko had been in a Dominion prison.

"Thank you, Doctor. You've scheduled an appointment with Counsellor Telnorri?" Counselling was standard procedure after enemy abduction or incarceration. Julian had been the victim of both.

"Yes, sir."

Thirty-seven days in a Dominion internment camp... Sisko had seen how battered and dirty Julian had looked when he came home, barely twenty-six hours ago. The dishevelled doctor had been a vision to fuel his imagination, and Sisko hated the pictures his mind had conjured up. Even as he had welcomed Julian back and had congratulated him on having helped to foil his counterpart's dastardly plot, Sisko had hoped and prayed that the details he'd imagined were wrong, were an exaggeration, were the stuff of nightmares, not reality.

He'd find out about the reality soon enough, when he read whatever Julian had written.

Then again, thirty-seven days was nothing compared to the two years that General Martok had endured, so maybe Sisko was making something out of nothing.

Sisko looked at Julian and wanted to sigh. Thirty-seven days or two years... Maybe the precise amount of time didn't matter. It was the quality of suffering that was important and, looking at him, Sisko was quite sure that Julian had suffered.

The doctor had always been slender, but this version was even thinner than usual. His cheekbones jutted out from his face, and his new uniform, based on measurements taken a couple of months before, was almost hanging from his shoulders. His expression was solemn and his eyes wary. Nobody on Deep Space Nine had noticed when the Changeling had replaced the real Bashir, but the switch back was obvious.

Julian's gaze kept drifting away from Sisko's face to the star field visible through the port. Sisko wondered what Julian found so fascinating about it; he had never shown any particular interest in it before.

"Will that be all, sir?" Julian's voice was quiet, his tone flat.

Sisko said, "Yes, for now. You're dismissed."

"Aye, sir." Julian turned on his heel, a slightly sloppier about turn than military decorum demanded, and he exited Sisko's office.

Sisko stared at the closed doors.

When the shuttle with Worf, Garak, Martok and Julian on board had docked at the station, Sisko had told Julian to take as much time as he needed to readjust to being home. Even so, now, in the empty space Julian had just left behind, Sisko felt he had missed something important, and that he ought to have said or done something more.

-=o=-

Samil Fahid glanced down at the notes he barely needed and continued his summary of news reports. "... Changeling infiltration uncovered on space station..."

Fahid was human. He was tall and lean, and he looked younger than his forty-five years. His dark hair was yet to be touched with grey. His wife, Mei-Lin, constantly reassured him that the lines developing around his eyes and mouth made him look distinguished rather than old.

"What's that one?" asked Shadow Minister Without Portfolio Shiva Ghazi. Shiva Ghazi was also human, but he was shorter and squatter than Fahid. Fahid was his aide, his confidant, and, as of six months ago, his son-in-law.

Ghazi's olive skin was still smooth, but the lines around his eyes hinted at his advancing years. He was approaching his seventy-fifth birthday, still young in political circles, but old enough for him to worry that if he didn't achieve his ambitions soon, he never would.

"Uh... Prisoners escaped from a Dominion internment camp in the Gamma Quadrant and made it back to the Alpha Quadrant. One of the escapees was General Martok—you remember, his doppelganger was discovered and killed a few months ago. Another was a Starfleet officer—a doctor—from Deep Space Nine. He had been kidnapped some five weeks before and replaced by a Changeling, but nobody on the station had noticed the switch."

"Worrying."

"Yes," agreed Fahid, "particularly as the station had been carrying out regular blood screenings. Apparently, not even those closest to him noticed that he'd been replaced."

"Does that say something about the friends or the quality of the impersonation?"

"I don't know. The spin that the Federation News Service has put on the story is 'brave escapees foil terror plot' and 'the need for constant vigilance'."

"All right. What else have you got for me?"

"There are reports from Cardassia about yet more political shake-ups...more rumour than fact, of course. There's very little information coming out of Cardassia now that the Cardassians have formed an alliance with the Dominion. There are more stories about the military build-up, and several statements from Starfleet and politicians about our being on a war footing. There's a leaked statement here from a source close to President Jaresh-Inyo: 'We are still searching for peaceful solutions, but war is inevitable'."

"Hmph!" Ghazi scowled. He didn't like Jaresh-Inyo, a clash of personalities as much as differences in political opinions. "He's trying to talk the talk, but he'll never follow through with action."

"There's something here about you. 'Shiva Ghazi: the next Minister of Military Resources.' You're being tipped as the next party leader, and the FNS says that'll be your stepping stone for the Federation's presidency in seven year's time. Here. I copied the story to a PADD for you."

"Excellent! Saying one has no ambition to lead is a trick as old as the hills, but it still works a treat." Ghazi and Fahid shared a chuckle.

"Incidentally, we've had another request from the FNS. One of its journalists wants to do a profile on the family: dynastic politicians, that kind of thing."

"You know I don't like those stories, but I suppose needs must." Another lie, another chuckle. Ghazi was a firm believer in getting as much publicity as he could, and Fahid had long since proved himself adept at managing his public relations. "See if you can negotiate for an interview slot, too. Then put the usual controls and conditions in place, and make sure that the privacy of those family members who choose to avoid the public eye is guaranteed." By that he meant his wife. She hadn't been the same since their beloved son had died fifteen months before. Such a tragic waste. Such a stupid accident.

"Very good." Fahid tilted his head slightly in a sycophantic bow, then continued to brief Ghazi.

-=o=-

"For a man who has a reputation for talking a lot, you've actually told me very little," said Counsellor Telnorri.

Julian fidgeted in his chair, one of a pair that Telnorri had set at a hundred and fifty degree angle from each other, separated only by a low coffee table and a lot of space. The arrangement was designed to reduce the unease of Telnorri's patients. In case that didn't work, the rest of the room had been arranged so that there was plenty of space for agitated patients to pace.

Julian turned his eyes onto Telnorri and said, "What do you mean?"

Telnorri was human. He wasn't fat, exactly, but he had enough of a paunch to render his Starfleet uniform distinctly unflattering. His bare crown was fringed by a band of blond-white hair, only marginally paler than his skin, that ran behind his ears and around the back of his head. This, in combination with a neatly trimmed moustache and beard, always gave Julian the odd feeling that Telnorri wasn't bald at all, but that his hair had slipped downwards or that his head was on upside down. The comedy of his face was accentuated by a pair of bushy eyebrows; Julian had once heard young Molly O'Brien ask her father why Telnorri allowed a pair of hairy caterpillars to crawl across his face.

"You've told me what happened to you. But, if that was all I wanted from you, I could have simply read the report you gave the captain."

Julian's lips twitched humourlessly. "You mean you haven't read it anyway?"

Telnorri didn't bother to answer. Julian shrugged mentally. Telnorri's lack of response didn't matter. His question had been rhetorical.

Telnorri waited patiently and silently.

Why did counsellors think their clients should do all the talking? Julian didn't want to talk. Most of the time, he didn't even want to remember, but he'd been cursed with an eidetic memory, so it was almost impossible to forget. The closest he could come to forgetting was to keep busy and blot the memories out.

That was why he would rather have been almost anywhere else other than here. He could have been doing research. He could have been making sure that the Changeling had done no lasting damage to the infirmary or to any of his patients. He could have gone to check up on Kirayoshi O'Brien's progress. Any, or all, of those things would have diverted him from his recent experiences.

But, no. He had to spend time with the counsellor. He sighed, a soft sound. "What _do_ you want from me?"

"Now you're being deliberately obtuse," suggested Telnorri gently. "You know perfectly well why we have to do this. Why you're here."

A spark of perversity made Julian ask, "Why am I here?"

Julian knew the value of humour, bluster and sarcasm as defence mechanisms, and he'd had thirty-something days in a Dominion prison to hone his skills. He had barely mentioned in his report how he'd deliberately baited his captors. He'd skirted over the details of how, on more than one occasion, he'd protected his barrack mates with his sarcastic answers, misdirection and downright lies.

He hadn't gone into the detail of what the consequences of his behaviour had been.

Absentmindedly, Julian rubbed an itch—real, imagined or remembered?—through the fabric of his uniform.

Were these the kinds of things Telnorri wanted to know about?

Telnorri pulled Julian back from his thoughts. "You're here, as you very well know, so that we can find out if there are any aftereffects from your experiences, and so that I can help you come to terms with any unresolved issues that you may have."

"I'm fine," said Julian. "I escaped. I'm healed. I'm here and I'm fine."

"Even if that's true, it's not for you to judge." Telnorri held up his hand to forestall Julian's automatic protest. "It's my job to find out for sure." He looked into Julian's eyes, making sure that he had the doctor's attention. "You know I'm right. If you were one of your own patients, you'd refer yourself to me. Just because you're a doctor doesn't make you any different from anyone else. Besides, in case you haven't noticed, I have to report to the same commanding officer as you."

Telnorri was correct and Julian knew he wasn't going to be able to avoid the counsellor's prying. That being so, he might as well bow to the inevitable, no matter how much he disliked the idea.

But... Counselling made him feel vulnerable, exposed. There were too many questions that might cross into dangerous territory, too many places where he had to be guarded. He had too many issues that he had to make sure the counsellor never got a chance to help him resolve.

"Normally," said Telnorri, I would prefer to just let my patients talk. But, as you appear to be having problems volunteering information, I want to try something that might make things easier for you."

"What do you have in mind?" asked Julian cautiously.

"I'll ask questions, and you can answer them. Don't think about your answers. Just tell me the first thing that comes into your head."

"All right," said Julian doubtfully.

"What was the first thing you felt when you woke up in the camp?"

"Pain. My head hurt."

"Then what?"

"Confusion."

"Why were you confused?"

"Because I'd gone to sleep on Meezan IV and I woke up half a galaxy away, and I didn't know how I'd got there."

"Were you frightened?"

"Yes. Of course. Who wouldn't have been?"

"What were you frightened of?"

"Of never being able to leave. The Jem'Hadar said that there was neither release nor escape, except through death." Julian felt himself beginning to relax. Maybe this wasn't going to be so bad, after all.

"But you did escape." Telnorri's intonation made the statement sound like a question.

"Thanks to Enabran Tain. And Garak."

"While you were imprisoned, did you feel helpless? Hopeless?"

"No," said Julian, surprising himself with his automatic response as much as he seemed to have surprised Telnorri. He compounded their mutual surprise by expanding on his answer without waiting to be asked. "Tain had almost finished reconfiguring the life support system by the time I arrived. The others already had their escape plans well advanced. Even if escaping was a long shot, it was a source of hope. So, I always had hope. And I never felt helpless."

"But you were frightened that you might have to spend the rest of your life there?"

"Yes. But I still had hope."

"Even when you were in solitary?"

"Yes. Although..."

"Although?"

"I couldn't help wondering what would happen if rescue came while I was separated from Tain and the others." Julian looked into Telnorri's eyes, wanting him to understand. "It almost happened. When I was released from solitary, Worf and Garak were already there."

"You feared you might have been left behind?"

"Yes."

"How does that make you feel?"

"I don't know. When I'm awake, I feel...grateful. Relieved. Because I escaped with them. But when I'm asleep, I dream about it."

"While you were in the prison, what did you miss most?"

Julian frowned at the sudden change in topic. "The stars. We were inside the whole time. Seeing them again... I know I escaped when I see the stars. I know this is real." He found himself getting up and wandering over to the window and staring out.

"You don't feel this is real all the time?"

"When I dream, I'm back in the camp. And when I wake up, sometimes it's hard to know whether sleeping or waking is real."

"And now?"

Julian turned around and looked at Telnorri. Firmly, he said, "I'm awake. And I know I'm here."

"What was the worst thing about your imprisonment?"

"The food."

"What else?"

"The boredom."

"What else?"

"Coming home." Julian started as he realised what he'd said. Oh, this was bad, very bad. Or else Telnorri was very good. Or both. Julian clenched his right hand to stop it shaking.

Telnorri's eyes widened. The counsellor masked it well, but Julian could read the concern provoked by his unguarded answer and his own reaction to it. After an uncomfortable few seconds, Telnorri said, "Can you explain that?"

Julian turned back towards the window and stared at the stars. He couldn't look at Telnorri as he put his answer into words. It was so much easier to pretend that he was talking to himself. Softly, he said, "Nothing is as it should be. I was gone for over a month, but people behave as though I've never been away."

"Go on," said Telnorri.

"They behave as though I was here the whole time, as though what happened to me wasn't real. They expect me to remember things they've said, or things I'm supposed to have done. Only I never had the conversations or did any of the things they remember."

Telnorri waited patiently, and after a while, Julian continued.

"Nothing in my quarters is where I left it. My rooms don't feel as though they belong to me. He did my job. He spent time with my friends. He...tainted...everything. He stole my life. My life went on without me being there. And if... When my...friends...remember that I've been away, they behave with astonishment, disbelief. And—" Julian's voice cracked and he broke off abruptly. He felt tears pricking his eyes, and blinked rapidly, trying to clear them away without Telnorri being any the wiser. He clenched and unclenched his fists, then rubbed his hands together. Some detached part of his mind noted that his palms were damp.

"And...?"

"And they tease me about it. They say they should have seen the difference. That the Changeling was easier than me to get along with."

"How does that make you feel?"

Julian spun around, his face awash with emotion. "How do you think it makes me feel? The Jem'Hadar...they beat me. They hurt me. I was put in solitary. And people laugh about what happened to me! I'm...angry! And hurt!"

"Have you told anyone how you feel?"

Sullenly, Julian said, "I'm telling you."

"Anyone else? Family? Friends?"

"My family and I aren't close."

"Friends, then?"

Julian shook his head. "Garak and Worf... They know some of it."

"Because they were there, or because you've actually talked to them?"

Slightly desperately, Julian said, "I filed my report with Captain Sisko."

"You reported the facts, not the feelings. Who do you turn to, when you have a problem?"

"I..." Julian's mouth opened and closed silently. He felt cornered.

"Do you talk to anyone?"

Did he? Once he might have confided in Jadzia, but that was before she'd started spending so much time with Worf.

He'd sometimes confided in O'Brien, but their most meaningful conversations took place when they'd had too much to drink. Besides, O'Brien didn't deal well with personal stuff, and this... This was personal.

In any case, he still smarted from O'Brien's teasing.

Garak? Garak was a good conversationalist, and their debates about literature were intellectually stimulating. Julian liked spending time with Garak, but he wasn't entirely sure that liking to spend time with someone equated to liking them. Besides, Garak obfuscated more often than not, and Julian couldn't quite imagine how an open and honest conversation about his feelings would go.

"Don't answer me now," said Telnorri. "But I want you to think about it. I want you to schedule another session, and we can discuss it then."

-=o=-

Julian sought sanctuary in the infirmary, where he busied himself by going through files, equipment, inventory and patient records. Eventually, however, he ran out of things to check. He wasn't sure whether he was reassured or disturbed that the Changeling had done almost as good a job as Chief Medical Officer as he, himself, would have done.

The only things the Changeling had neglected were Julian's research projects. That oversight left Julian feeling almost sick with relief. There was one part of his life that hadn't been violated, after all!

Nurse Jabara tapped on the doorpost of Julian's office. Julian looked around. "Oh... Hello. What can I do for you?"

"Your shift ended over an hour ago. You can get something to eat and you can rest. You look exhausted."

Julian nodded. He was driving himself harder even than was normal. He knew why he was doing it; he also knew that there was no reason to draw unnecessary attention to his behaviour. Besides, now he thought about it, he was feeling hungry and he knew he ought to try to sleep, even if he dreaded what might lie in wait for him when he closed his eyes. "You're right. I guess time got away from me."

Jabara smiled. "It's good to have you back," she said. "He wasn't so dedicated."

Julian nodded, acknowledging her comment. She meant well but she hadn't noticed the substitution, so her words felt hollow. At least she wasn't making light of the situation.

Her smile segued into a frown as she looked at him more closely. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," he said. He stood up. "I'll take your advice. Food and bed, right?"

"Right."

"I'll see you in the morning, then."

Jabara's smile was back. "Goodnight, Doctor."

"Goodnight."

Julian walked through the long corridors of the station, his mind awash with thoughts and feelings, delaying the moment when he'd get back to his quarters. He felt a strong reluctance to face the space his doppelganger had appropriated in his absence.

Julian found himself next to his front door. Funny. Eidetic memory or not, he couldn't remember the journey from the infirmary. He keyed in the door code, then went inside.

He walked over to the nearest port and stared out at the stars and sighed. His session with the counsellor had left him feeling uneasy, unsettled and alone, and now that he had run out of work to do, the feelings tsunamied back, crashing over him. Smothering him.

Damn. The scars on his back were itching again.

Despite what he'd reported to Sisko and what he'd said to Telnorri, his kidnapping and imprisonment _had_ been traumatic.

More than anything, what he wanted was for someone to put their arms around him and to lie to him that everything was going to be all right. But he didn't have anyone who would do that for him.

Before the Changeling incident, Julian had thought that Miles O'Brien had become a staunch friend and ally. Now he wasn't so sure. What did it say about their friendship that Miles had found Changeling and human so easily interchangeable?

In any case, Julian craved something more than good-natured banter. He wanted support, connection. He wanted human contact, the kind close family members or lovers gave each other. He felt his face morph into a scowl, and he saw his reflection scowl back at him. "Well," he muttered, "the counsellor did tell me to think about who I turn to when I need to talk..."

He shook his head as his mind drew a blank. God. What did that say about him? He was interchangeable with a Changeling, and he had no confidant to draw on. He was pitiful!

But then, wasn't that a true measure of his worth? He deserved nothing more.

_Unnatural..._

_Freak..._

Damn. His introspection had ignited other thoughts, feelings and memories that he'd become adept at blotting out with work, research, conversations with Garak, trips to Quark's, time in the holosuites, and the occasional game of darts.

_Don't think about it. You can't change what you are. You just have to cope with it._

_Monster..._

_Don't think. Cope._

Julian had never had much success with either family or romantic relationships. He could barely bring himself to talk to his parents and, if there was any extended family out there, he didn't know them.

He flirted, and he'd had occasional dalliances, but he'd only ever had two long-term relationships and one unrequited crush that he could claim had been serious.

Perhaps because his relationship with his parents had been strained for so long, Julian craved physical contact. It wasn't about sex—although he enjoyed that, too. It was about being close to another person. He loved to snuggle and to spoon and to wake up next to someone else.

His first serious relationship had been with Palis Delon, but a combination of fear of discovery allied with a craving for adventure had finally made him leave her.

Jadzia... Julian had been attracted to Jadzia from the moment he first set eyes on her. If he was honest, he still was. But Jadzia hadn't been interested in him, and he'd been scared.

Then Leeta had come along, Leeta whom he'd liked but not loved, and so the risk of involvement hadn't been so high. Jadzia had become a friend and Leeta a lover, and if that wasn't what Julian would have wanted in a perfect universe... Well. Julian had accepted a long time ago that the universe wasn't perfect.

Leeta had done all the chasing in their relationship; Julian had simply let himself be caught. They'd had fun together, at least in the bedroom, and Julian had liked the fiction of closeness that allowed him to forget his loneliness for a few hours at a time. But being with Leeta had been a palliative, not a cure, for his isolation.

In the end, Leeta had moved on, Jadzia had found Worf, and Julian had found himself alone.

And lonely.

He felt separate from everyone else. He wasn't natural. He wasn't real. He wasn't even truly human. And nobody had missed him when he'd been gone.

He felt the walls of the quarters that had been home to the impostor closing in on him.

He did the only thing he could think of.

He went out.

-=o=-

The late afternoon sun beat down on the grass. Insects droned as they flitted from flower to flower, pollinating the daisies, buttercups and clover that had invaded the close-cropped sward. This could have been paradise, save for two things. First, it was August 1940, and the squadron could be scrambled at any minute. Second, none of it was real.

RAF Biggin Hill, its hangars and wooden accommodation blocks, the spitfires on the concrete, the people... Everything, save Julian, himself, had been created by a complex web of computer code, light particles and energy.

Julian lay on his back, his eyes closed and his arms folded across his face. The sun's rays warmed him through the fabric of his Starfleet uniform.

He hadn't bothered to change into his flying clothes. He'd come here to escape his quarters, questing for a bit of peace and quiet, rather than to role play. Maybe things would have been different had he brought Miles along with him, but Julian hadn't invited him.

Julian sighed. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't lose himself in the programme. His mind kept circling back to events outside the holosuite.

A clap of thunder and a sudden downpour of rain made Julian leap to his feet and run for the nearest hut. The moistened soil released the smell of summer rain—a remote part of Julian's mind produced the word petrichor—only, somehow, the smell wasn't quite right. Holoprogrammes never quite seemed able to capture the finer nuances of the scent.

On a different day, Julian might have laughed at his lot but, in his current frame of mind, the summer storm was an annoyance too far. The water dripping from his hair, face and clothes, allied with the faux-petrichor, banished the final remnants of Julian's enjoyment.

"Computer: end programme!"

The summer day vanished in an instant, and was replaced by hard walls, bare floor and ceiling, and artificial light. The water disappeared from his body and clothes.

Julian sighed. As a distraction, visiting 1940 had turned out to be an utter failure.

He'd have to try something else, instead.

-=o=-

"Scotch. Single malt. Make it a double."

Quark made an expression of sceptical surprise. Julian tilted his head slightly as he catalogued exactly how Quark managed to convey the emotions without having eyebrows to raise or a forehead that could furrow. There was something about the creases around his eyes, the ridges on his nose and the set of his mouth.

"Do you really want whisky, Doctor, or are you trying to make a point?"

"I really want it." He paused, then said, "How would ordering whisky be making a point? And what would that point be?"

"No real point, other than that the Changeling never drank spirits."

Julian found himself asking, "What did he drink?"

"Warm bitter or cold root beer."

"Oh." Julian felt himself frown. "How did he drink? Or eat?"

"Into the mouth and swallow?"

"Odo doesn't eat. Not any more, anyway," said Julian.

Odo regaining his shape shifting abilities... That was another thing he had missed, another thing people expected him to know about and remember. Julian felt himself slump even lower onto his bar stool.

Quark's brow ridges shifted upwards by a couple of millimetres, another nuance of expression. "Maybe he could, if he tried. Especially now he knows what it's like to be solid."

Quark poured out a finger of honey-coloured malt into a small glass and put it down on the counter in front of Julian. Julian picked it up and swirled the liquid around, appreciating its colour, the way the light played with it, and the way it tried to cling to the sides of the glass.

Then Julian tossed back half of the whisky, letting the flavours assault his tongue: a tint of fruit, a lot of peat, and a fire that lingered at the back of his mouth and down into his gullet long after he'd swallowed. His chest warmed. He peered appreciatively at the remains of his drink, then looked up at Quark and said, "I think I'm going to need another."

Quark nodded. He lined up a second glass, acknowledged Julian's thanks, and then moved on to another customer.

Julian swished his next mouthful over his tongue, enjoying the burn and the mixture of taste notes. There was an almost masochistic pleasure in drinking whisky, the sensations hovering on a knife-edge between pain and pleasure. He swallowed, downing the fire. He sighed appreciatively. The whisky was doing a passable job of blotting out his disquiet, better than either warm bitter or cold root beer could have done.

By the time Julian reached the bottom of his third glass, his vision had begun to blur pleasantly around the edges, and Quark had begun to make vague threats about cutting him off even as he served Julian a fourth.

"Hello, Julian."

Julian startled, then turned towards the speaker's voice. "Hello, Jadzia." He squinted behind her. "Where's Worf?"

"In one of the holosuites. I said I'd meet him here, after he's finished his work-out."

Julian acknowledged her answer with a nod.

"And what brings you here?" she asked.

"I wanted a change of scenery. I needed to get out of my quarters for a while."

"Cabin fever?"

"Something like that." Julian turned his attention back to his glass, watching idly as his long fingers turned it around and around on its base.

"Julian... Are you all right?"

Something about Jadzia's concern touched and hurt him. There was caring and worry in the question, so like how she'd been before Worf, back when Julian had had hope, and when he'd begun to think that he might be able to tell her anything.

Her concern belonged to another time. Or to another him.

"Julian?"

"Oh. Yes. I'm fine."

She put her hand onto his forearm, and he thought he could feel the coolness of her skin through the fabric of his uniform. Probably it was just his imagination.

Quark came over. "What'll you have, Commander?" he asked Jadzia.

"I'll have whatever he's having." She waved vaguely in the direction of Julian's glass.

"Islay malt? Isn't that a bit...insipid...for your tastes?"

"Insipid?" said Julian. He looked accusingly at Jadzia. "Do you even have taste buds?"

Jadzia just smiled. Then, when Quark had delivered her drink and moved on, she returned to their previous topic. "No. You're not all right," she said softly. "Tell me what's wrong. Maybe I can help."

Julian shook his head. "Nothing's wrong, exactly. It's just taking me a little time to get used to being back here, I suppose."

"'Used to...' What do you mean?"

"Well, for one thing, my quarters don't feel as though they belong to me any more. He touched everything. Moved everything. God knows why, but he even shifted all the furniture by a few millimetres."

"And you noticed?"

Oh.

He wasn't supposed to notice that level of detail, was he? He'd slipped. Again. Although...now that he worried about it, noticing that kind of thing did fall on the edges of human norms, so maybe he hadn't slipped too badly. He shrugged, hoping that Jadzia wouldn't pursue it.

"He reorganised my closet. And I can't help wondering whether he wore my clothes, or if he morphed his own."

"You feel violated," Jadzia said, verbalising what it was he hadn't said. She thought for a few moments, then said, "Would it help if you moved into different quarters?"

Would it? Nothing could change the fact that his life had been invaded, but... "Maybe it would."

"Then ask Kira."

"She'll think I'm being s-silly." Julian cringed inwardly. His old, nervous stutter was back. He thought he'd lost that years ago. Maybe he had. Maybe it was the drink making him stutter, but he didn't think so. He didn't think he'd had enough alcohol yet. Maybe he should have some more. Yes. More sounded like a very good idea right now.

"No, she won't," said Jadzia.

Julian squinted at her, his expression sceptical. "If she doesn't, it'll be a first. Major Kira always thinks I'm silly."

Jadzia sighed. "No, she doesn't. Besides, Kira knows you've been through hell. She'll understand."

"You think?"

"Ask her."

Julian thought about it. Maybe he would.

Jadzia slapped his upper arm and said brightly, "What you need is a distraction. Something to take your mind off things."

Julian couldn't argue with that.

"Hold on. Don't go anywhere."

"Wasn't planning to."

Julian watched as Jadzia crossed the bar and interrupted a group of people that Julian recognised as being semi-regular visitors to the station. He'd treated one of the men once, when he'd broken his right wrist in one of Quark's holosuites. Jadzia talked, leaning over their table, then gestured towards him. He felt himself blush as he felt the full force of five sets of eyes land on him. Then a woman—human—grinned and stood up as Jadzia straightened.

Jadzia led the stranger across the floor. Julian couldn't help but notice that the woman was very attractive.

Scant seconds later, Jadzia said, "Have you met Julian?" and then proceeded to navigate them through introductions.

Julian noticed that Belen Amoruso had small, straight, white teeth, which she flashed in a heart-shaped smile. Her oval face was framed by shoulder-length, auburn hair, which fell in ringlets like strands of DNA. Her skin tone complemented the colour of his malt whisky. That coincidence had to mean something.

Maybe it simply meant that he'd had too much to drink.

"H-hello," said Julian. "It's a p-pleasure to meet you."

Her smile broadened. "Ooo," she cooed. She looked at Jadzia and said, "You didn't tell me he was a shy one."

"He's not shy," said Jadzia. "Just a little nervous, perhaps. And possibly quite drunk." She winked at Julian. "Anyway, here comes Worf, so I'll leave you two alone. Have fun." Her eyes twinkled as she fluttered her fingers in goodbye.

Belen slid onto the bar stool that Jadzia had so recently vacated.

Her eyes were a rich, dark brown, and Julian fancied that they'd been created specifically to lure him in.

"Jadzia told me you saved a world," Belen breathed.

Julian listed in Belen's direction. "Well...I had help."

Belen shifted closer, and when she next spoke, he could feel her breath tickle his ear. "Nervous—or was it drunk?—and modest, too." She rested her hand on top of his. Her skin was warm and soft, and she'd painted her nails the colour of deoxygenated blood.

He turned his hand over beneath hers, so they touched palm to palm, and he interlaced their fingers.

Belen Amoruso was just the distraction Julian hadn't realised he'd been looking for.

-=o=-

Julian lay with Belen in the afterglow of their coupling, his arms wrapped around her, his cheek resting on her hair, and his legs tangled with hers. Top to toe, skin to skin, their bodies touched. His fingers brushed against her bare back as he listened to her slow, even breaths, and he felt a knot of gratitude in his chest. She was beautiful, and for a while, she was his, and that brief time gave him the best approximation of happiness that he'd felt in a long while.

Just for tonight, he could pretend that what they'd shared meant something more meaningful than gratified lust, and that it had been something more than it could ever be.

In the peaceful haze of satiation and fantasy, Julian fell asleep.

-=o=-

He woke up alone, the space next to him empty, and the sheets cold. He sighed as he rolled over, sat up and rubbed his eyes. Belen's presence in his bed hadn't kept the nightmares at bay, and she'd sneaked out without saying goodbye. What had seemed like a good idea the night before now felt tawdry and depressing.

He felt more alone than ever.


	2. Chapter 2

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

Thank you very much to those people who have reviewed, followed and favourited. Your support means a great deal to me. I'm also getting a real kick out of seeing which countries people have been viewing from! Just so you know, my plan is to post chapters once a week.

This chapter deals with events that take place during the episode "Dr Bashir, I Presume". Parts of this chapter (including dialogue) will be recognisable from the show, and I therefore want to acknowledge Jimmy Diggs and Ronald D Moore, who were credited with writing the story and teleplay, respectively.

-=o=-

**Chapter Two**

Sisko couldn't fault Julian's diligence. He doubted anyone else would have noticed the rise in the levels of argonite in the atmosphere and, if they had, they probably wouldn't have cared. Julian had taken the time to look and now he wanted to act, before it became a problem.

When Julian had first arrived on Deep Space Nine, Sisko had thought him brash, immature and naïve. Sometimes he still did. But, gradually, Sisko had come to realise that Julian was far more than that, and that his personal and professional lives were two very different things.

The doctor was a hard worker. He asked more of himself than he would ever ask of anyone else. He was compassionate and thorough, and if he was occasionally overly eager to please it had more to do with his wanting to help than with his currying favour.

Sisko sometimes wondered how just many of the things Julian did went unnoticed. He ran the infirmary with quiet, understated efficiency. He somehow found time to do research. Apparently, he still found time to eat, read Cardassian literature, frequent the holosuites, socialise _and_ sleep.

But...argonite gas?

Was this Julian being his usual, efficient self, or was there something more to this? He'd only been back from the Gamma Quadrant for a few days, and Sisko had heard whispers—mostly from Dax—that Julian had yet to settle back into life on Deep Space Nine. Sisko wasn't entirely sure what the problem was, but he understood the concept of work as a diversion. He'd also heard that Julian had requested, and had been granted, a change of quarters.

If the rumours of lights burning in the infirmary into the silly wee hours had any validity to them, Julian was seeking diversions with a vengeance. From that point of view, Dr Zimmerman's arrival on the station couldn't have happened at a better time.

Besides, it was good to know that Julian's work was getting recognised beyond the confines of the station and Bajor. First there had been Julian's nomination for the Carrington Award, and now he'd been selected as the model for the Long-term Medical Hologram.

Julian's self-professed hunger for adventure notwithstanding, Sisko had never really understood why he had wanted to come to Deep Space Nine. It had been a posting in an obscure backwater that nobody else had wanted. Sisko certainly hadn't expected to have a young, talented, albeit somewhat socially inept, high-flyer assigned to him as CMO. At best, he'd expected someone wanting to see out quietly the twilight of his or her career, someone like Counsellor Telnorri.

Sisko wasn't entirely sure why Julian stayed, either. He assumed the main reason was that the discovery of the wormhole had transformed the posting from an obscurity into something far more high profile and high status. For a while, there had been a queue of officers drooling with envy over the posting, though, these days, the approaching war seemed to be cutting the length of the queues considerably.

Even if Julian wasn't actively looking for something else, one day, probably in the not too distant future, he would be headhunted, and would leave the station. He would probably be head of Starfleet Medical by the time he was forty.

Rather to his surprise, Sisko realised that he would miss Julian when he was gone.

Sisko was just about to give Julian the go-ahead to deal with the argonite problem when their conversation was cut short by Jadzia. "I'm sorry to interrupt, sir, but there are a couple of visitors here looking for Julian, and I thought he might want to see them right away."

From the expression on Julian's face when he looked at Sisko, Sisko could tell that he wasn't expecting anyone.

"Well, send them in," said Sisko.

Jadzia turned and nodded towards the unseen visitors. An older couple came into the captain's office, warm, eager smiles on their faces. They stopped just inside the room as they gazed at Julian in something approaching adoring wonder.

Whoever they were, Julian wasn't as happy to see them as they were to see him. To Sisko's amusement, the often-garrulous Julian was momentarily robbed of speech. When his mouth finally opened and he managed to push some words out, it was to joylessly say, "Oh. My God."

The woman rushed over. "Hello, Jules," she said. She grabbed him into a hug. She seemed utterly oblivious to his reluctance to hug her back but, belatedly, he did exactly that. He didn't hug her closely, but it was a noticeable thawing of his earlier reaction.

The man then rushed forward and also hugged Julian. If anything, Julian seemed even unhappier about this hug than about the woman's. There was no answering smile on his face.

Sisko watched the drama unfold and, instinctively, he knew something was wrong.

"Captain." Julian's voice was soft, his manner awkward, even embarrassed. "Allow me to introduce...Amsha and Richard Bashir, my parents."

Again, Sisko was struck by the wrongness of this meeting; this was not a family dynamic he recognised. His mind automatically flew to his relationships with his father and his son. If _his_ father were to turn up unannounced on the space station, he'd be shocked, yes, but he'd also be happy. Oh, so very happy!

But this... Sisko felt as though he was witnessing a runabout collision, as though the disaster was happening in slow motion and he had no power to stop it. Instead, he could only watch.

Richard Bashir turned towards him. Sisko held out his hand. Richard shook it. Richard's grip was a little too firm, as though he was trying too hard, and a little too damp.

"I'm Benjamin Sisko. Welcome to Deep Space Nine."

Amsha replied. "Thank you, Captain. It's a pleasure to finally see where Jules works." She had an easy grace about her, and her accented voice was soothing.

Sisko watched as she fastened her hand onto Julian's elbow and proprietarily steered him towards a chair, where she sat down. Richard also sat, uninvited.

"We wanted to come before," said Richard. "But my schedule's been so busy up to now. I'm sure you know what it's like."

"All too well," said Sisko.

Amsha was still holding possessively onto Julian's hand. Just as it crossed Sisko's mind that she wasn't going to relinquish her hold on her son anytime soon, she finally let go, not because she was ready to, but because it was too awkward for her to hold on, given the position she was sitting in.

Jadzia asked, "What is it you do, Mr Bashir?"

"Oh... I've done many things. At the moment I'm involved in landscape architecture. Designing public spaces. Parks, mostly. I love the idea of working on projects that thousands of people will enjoy long after I'm gone. They're my legacy. My gift to succeeding generations. Besides from Jules, here, of course." He turned his head and smiled broadly at his son. Julian tried to smile back, but it was a mere curve of the lips, and it didn't reach his eyes. For some reason, he was discomforted by his father's pride.

Sisko wondered why, so he decided to go fishing. "You must be very proud of your son."

"Oh, yes!" said Amsha emphatically. She lifted a hand backwards over her shoulder, a wordlessly demanding gesture.

It took Julian a second or two, but, somewhat to Sisko's surprise, he did what his mother obviously expected of him. He took hold of her hand. She, then, brought up her other hand, trapping his between both of hers. There was something off-putting about both the dominating gesture and the way Julian submitted to it.

Richard said, "He's a...very gifted young man. I hope you're putting all his talents to good use, Captain."

Julian still wasn't smiling. If anything, he was getting even more stoney-faced.

"We try," said Sisko.

"Well, sometimes you have to push him a little."

Sisko couldn't reconcile Richard's description with the man he knew. If anything, Julian was inclined to push himself too hard. Sisko remembered the way he'd driven himself to the brink of collapse, trying to find a cure for the Quickening. There had been other occasions, too, when Julian had pushed himself beyond the limits of what could reasonably be expected.

Still Richard talked. "It took quite a while to talk him into taking up medicine, but he did."

"So, you're the reason he went to medical school," said Jadzia.

"He wanted to become a—"

Amsha leaned forward and interrupted her husband. In the process, she was forced to loosen her hold on Julian. Thus released, he snatched his hand back.

"Perhaps we should save that until another time, Richard. I'm sure the captain is a very busy man."

"Ah. H'm. Of course. Maybe after our interviews are over...?"

Julian spoke for the first time since he'd introduced his parents. "Interviews?"

"Yes. With the Dr...um...Zimmerman. Didn't he tell you?"

There was a distinct bite in Julian's voice when he replied, "No, he didn't." If Julian had been lacking in pleasure before, now he'd crossed the line into deeply unhappy. And possibly unsettled.

Amsha looked up into Julian's face. "He said it was urgent. That the two of you were working together on a very important project, and that we had to come here right away." She sounded worried.

Julian sprang to life and, for a moment, he seemed more like his usual self than he'd done since he had returned from the Gamma Quadrant. "Yes, well. Why don't I see if I can find you some accommodations for this evening?"

Sisko moved to wind up the conversation. "It was a pleasure to meet you both."

"I hope we get a chance to see you again," Jadzia said. "I can't wait to hear some stories about Julian as a little boy."

"Oh, Lord! There are so many. You know, from the time he was this high," said Richard, gesturing with a hand, "we knew he was destined for greatness."

Julian had reached the limits of his patience. "The captain, Father, is a very busy man."

Richard winked at Jadzia. "We'll talk later," he said.

Julian ushered his parents out of the office. As he left, he glanced over his shoulder at Jadzia and Sisko. His expression was a complex blend of apology, exasperation and...something else Sisko couldn't quite pinpoint.

"What the hell just happened?" said Sisko as soon as the door closed behind the three Bashirs.

"I thought they'd help cheer him up," said Jadzia. "I guess I was wrong."

"I'll say."

Julian's reaction to seeing his parents had not been pleasure. It had been shock, possibly tinged with something akin to horror. He had tried to cover his reaction, had gone through the motions of being a dutiful son, but there was an undercurrent of...something...that made Sisko feel uneasy and served to remind him that Julian, who had talked about anything and everything else, had never, as far as he knew, talked about his family.

-=o=-

Sisko could hear the argument, if not the actual words, echoing along the corridor of the habitat ring. What a pity the Cardassians had not believed in soundproofing!

Then a door opened, and he saw Julian stagger out, his father's voice floating after him, shouting, "...barely stand to be in the same room as us!"

So. His instinct had been right. There was something seriously awry within the Bashir family.

Distraught, Julian leaned against a bulkhead, then sank down to the ground. He put his face in his hands. He was shaking. Was he _crying_?

Traumatised. That was the word that leapt into Sisko's head. Julian looked traumatised.

Sisko crouched down beside Julian and touched his arm. Julian startled and flinched at the captain's touch. "Doctor? Are you all right?"

Stupid question! Of course he wasn't all right!

Julian lowered his hands just enough to see Sisko. His eyes looked even larger than normal, wide and frightened.

"Doctor?" tried Sisko again. "What's wrong?"

He watched as Julian struggled to pull himself together. "Nothing's wrong, Captain."

"Well, that's a lie," said Sisko gently.

Julian shook his head. Sisko wasn't sure whether it was a gesture of denial or whether Julian was simply trying to clear it. "It's... It's nothing new. Nothing I haven't had to deal with before."

"Oh." That was hardly reassuring. "Do you want to talk about it? Can I help?"

Julian shook his head again, but this time the gesture was more purposeful. "No. Thank you, but no."

"All right. But let's get you out of here, before anyone else stumbles across you."

Julian nodded fractionally.

Sisko got to his feet and held out a hand to help Julian up. Then, when they were both standing, Sisko said, "Come on. I'll walk you back to your quarters. I'm going that way, anyway."

They'd gone a dozen or so paces when Sisko ventured, "I noticed earlier, in my office, that you weren't...delighted...to see your parents."

Julian chuckled humourlessly. "I wasn't. When Zimmerman told me he planned to interview my family and friends, I asked him not to contact them. We...don't get on very well, and I told him that we don't; we haven't for a long time. But he brought them here, anyway."

"But they were happy to see you."

"Yes. Well. I can't imagine why. We always end up arguing." Julian made a fluttering gesture with his hand, waving it in the direction of the quarters they'd just left behind, making a non-verbal reference to the scene Sisko had just witnessed.

"What do you argue about?"

"Does it matter?"

"I don't know. Does it?"

"Captain... My parents and I don't see eye to eye on a lot of things. They won't be here for very long, and everything will go back to normal when they're gone. I can last out until then. Please. Can't we just leave it at that?"

They'd reached Julian's quarters, and they drew to a halt. Julian didn't make a move to open the doors or to invite Sisko inside.

Sisko looked carefully at his Chief Medical Officer. Julian was looking much calmer now. Plus, Julian surely knew his situation better than anyone, and he'd obviously found ways of coping with it. Finally, Sisko said, "All right. I'll leave it for now. But if you need anything, or if you want to talk about it..."

He could see the relief in Julian's expression and his posture. "Thank you, Captain."

Sisko nodded. "Goodnight, Doctor."

There was the merest hint of a smile on Julian's lips as he said, "Goodnight, sir."

Sisko turned and began to walk down the corridor. He heard the doors to Julian's quarters swish open and close. He'd done everything he needed to, hadn't he? He'd asked questions, he'd offered his support. He couldn't be expected to do anything more.

But if that was true, why did he still feel uneasy?

-=o=-

Julian's worst fears had come to pass. His parents had mistaken Zimmerman's hologram for him and had blurted out the carefully guarded family secret within earshot of Miles O'Brien and Dr Zimmerman, himself.

Julian had always thought it would be his father who would give away the secret, one day going too far with his hidden meanings, private jokes and innuendoes. It would happen, he'd thought, somewhere, somehow, when his mother wasn't around to rein his father in, to guard his tongue for him.

He hadn't expected his parents to contribute in equal measure to the disaster.

Julian had been truthful when he'd told Miles he'd always known that, one day, his secret might come out. He'd thought he was ready for that possibility, but now that it had happened... Now all his nightmares had collided with reality... He found that he hadn't been prepared at all.

Julian knew he had to resign. He knew he had to get as far away from the station as he possibly could. But he didn't know where he wanted to go.

There was nowhere where he could be himself in Federation space. But where, outside the Federation, could he go? Was there anywhere where he would be allowed to do what he wanted to do, to do what he did best?

He was a doctor, and being a doctor was the aspect of himself he felt most comfortable about. Being a doctor and a Starfleet officer contributed hugely to his sense of identity. He had achieved his rank of lieutenant and his medical qualifications for himself. It was the only part of his identity that felt real to him, a part of who he was, rather than something that had been imposed upon him. Without medicine, he was nothing. Empty.

His sense of self-worth hinged on being a doctor. If that was taken away from him, what would be left?

Only the genetically engineered being who could contribute nothing to Federation society.

_Freak._

_Monster._

_There is nothing you can do to change that..._

There weren't many places where he could go to get away from it all on Deep Space Nine. There were his quarters, but he'd just left his parents behind in them. There was the Promenade, with its views towards the wormhole, but there was too high a risk of bumping into someone and being expected to make casual conversation. There were the holosuites, but he didn't have one booked, and he wasn't really in the mood, in any case...

Julian found himself heading towards the infirmary. Well, that made sense. The infirmary wasn't simply his place of work. It was also a home from home. He felt comfortable there in ways he seldom felt anywhere else.

He felt most at ease with himself when he was being a doctor. There were fewer pitfalls to be avoided in his professional life than in his personal one. He never felt he was under such close scrutiny when he was trusted to get on with his work.

He could barely stand the thought that tonight would be his last night as Chief Medical Officer. After tomorrow morning, the infirmary would no longer be his. It would be handed over to someone else.

He would miss it. He'd miss the Cardassian architecture, the lack of right angles, the computer systems that were barely compatible with Federation PADDs and laboratory equipment. He'd miss his staff, his patients, his research...

He'd miss this life.

But, for the next few hours, he could still lose himself in work.

Julian quickly made a mental inventory of all the tasks he needed to do in order to leave the infirmary in a state he'd be proud to bequeath to his successor. If, at the same time, he could intimidate whoever came after him with his efficiency and professionalism... Well, who could blame him? He had his pride and he felt he had a point to prove.

He'd checked everything only days before, in the wake of his return to the station, so most things were up to date. However, he decided it would be useful to document his files and procedures. He set about dictating to the computer.

At 24:05 hours, Quark came in, holding his hand away from his clothes and splashing blood onto the floor. "Ah! Doctor!"

"Quark! What happened?"

"Argument with a glass." Quark shrugged and winced.

Julian guided Quark to one of the diagnostic beds and helped him up onto it. The Ferengi sat on its edge, letting his legs dangle while Julian inspected the gash.

"I didn't expect to see you here," said Quark. "I thought I'd have to make do with one of your nurses."

"Any of the nurses would have done a fine job of fixing this," Julian said as he set about gathering equipment and cleaning the wound.

"I daresay," said Quark. "But it's always reassuring to have the best."

Julian didn't reply. He just said, "Hold still," and concentrated on sealing the cut.

Would Quark be his last patient? Probably...

"Doctor?" said Quark. "You're unusually quiet tonight."

"Oh... Sorry. I suppose I'm just a little...preoccupied."

"So long as your preoccupation doesn't interfere with your work."

Julian made a non-committal grunt, then said, "There. As good as new."

"Thank you, Doctor." Quark jumped down from the diagnostic bed and flexed his hand once or twice. He bade his farewells, then headed out of the infirmary. Julian watched as Quark headed back towards the bar.

Julian tidied his equipment away, updated Quark's records, then wondered what to do next.

By 25:30, Julian had run out of things to occupy himself with. He found himself reluctant to leave but too restless to stay.

He sighed, turned off the lights, and said a silent goodbye to the infirmary and to his career.

He wandered through the station corridors, and around the docking and habitat rings. He ventured into the racquetball court, cargo bays and laboratories. He even visited disused ore processing facilities and other parts of the station he had barely known existed.

Night was crawling towards morning by the time Julian made it back to his quarters, and the station lights were beginning to rise to their daytime levels.

He wasn't surprised to find his quarters empty and silent. He wondered how long his parents had waited for him to return before giving up on him and leaving.

God. He missed Kukalaka. There were so many things that he would have to give up; he couldn't bear the thought of giving up Kukalaka, too. He'd have to get the toy bear back from Leeta before he left the station.

-=o=-

Benjamin Sisko rolled over in bed and reached out to tap his commlink. Then, as awareness gradually seeped into his befuddled brain, he realised that the chimes he could hear weren't coming from the comm system but from the door.

He planted his feet on the floor, rubbed his face with the palms of his hands, and said, "Computer: time?"

"The time is oh-five-thirty."

He sighed, levered himself to his feet, and muttered, "This had better be good."

The door chime sounded again. And again. Whoever it was, Sisko's early morning visitor was determined to be heard.

Sisko was half way across the living room when he finally called out, "Come!"

The doors slid apart, revealing not one, but two, people. Now that they had permission to enter, they seemed reluctant to.

Sisko's brows rose when his brain registered who his visitors were: Richard and Amsha Bashir.

At oh-five-thirty in the morning.

The Bashirs looked nervous, worried even, as they exchanged glances with each other. Richard's bumptious confidence and Amsha's easy grace had given way to...something else.

It was Amsha who finally spoke. "We're sorry to disturb you, Captain, but...we have something urgent we need to talk to you about."

"It's about Julian," said Richard, as if there could have been any doubt.

"You'd better come in." Sisko waited until they were firmly in his living room, then waved at the couch. "Sit down."

Whatever had brought the Bashirs to see him so early in the morning was obviously hard for them to articulate. Sisko was reminded strongly of the conversation he'd had with Julian when he'd stumbled across him in the corridor. There were clearly things that this most talkative family didn't want to talk about.

Amsha played with her fingers. Richard's right eyelid twitched.

Sisko remained standing and waited silently for them to explain. Finally, Richard broke the uncomfortable silence. "Julian plans on coming to see you this morning to resign from Starfleet."

"Resign! Why on Earth...?" Thoughts rushed through Sisko's mind faster than he could comfortably process. Was it because of some lingering aftereffect of Julian's time in the Dominion prison? Had his incarceration affected him even more than Sisko had supposed? Julian had seemed to be coping, if not well, exactly, then at least adequately. But if not that, then what? Julian had always seemed happy—excited, too—at being in Starfleet. Plus, his parents had seemed so excessively proud of Julian's achievements; they couldn't have put pressure on Julian to leave. Besides, if they were happy about his plan to resign, they wouldn't have turned up on Sisko's doorstep at oh-god o'clock in the morning to talk about it. In any case, from what he'd seen of the Bashirs' relationships, Julian wouldn't leave Starfleet just to please his parents.

Amsha said, "He wants to leave the station quietly, before word gets out. He's so hurt, and none of it is his fault."

"It's ours, and we should take responsibility. He shouldn't have to pay for what we did, no matter what the law says."

Sisko held up his hand to stem the flow of disjointed information. "I don't know what you're talking about. So, back up a minute, and start at the beginning."

"Julian wasn't always so...gifted," said Amsha carefully. "When he was little, he was..."

"Slow," said Richard.

Amsha glanced at her husband reproachfully, but she didn't contradict him.

"We...heard about a possible cure, a way to improve his life chances. To us, it was the answer to our prayers. But it did not come without cost. We had to give up everything: family; friends; home... Even, finally, our relationship with our son."

The word "slow" sent a frisson of fear skittering up Sisko's spine. He had a terrible premonition as to where the Bashirs were heading. He hoped he was wrong even as he realised he wasn't. There was only one thing that was terrible enough to explain Julian's plan to resign and the desperate presence of Julian's parents in his quarters.

Richard swallowed and took up the story. "When Julian was six, we took him to Adigeon Prime and we had him genetically enhanced."

Amsha said, "We vowed we'd keep what we had done a secret. Julian didn't find out until he was fifteen...and he's never forgiven us."

So that was why... No wonder Julian hadn't wanted to tell him what he and his parents argued about.

"But you're telling me now. So what changed?"

"Dr Zimmerman. He...found out about the enhancements, and he's going to file a report with Starfleet Medical. Julian says there is nothing we can do," said Richard.

"He wants to leave quietly. I think he wants to disappear. He's...ashamed," said Amsha quietly, sadly.

"He has always been ashamed," said Richard dismissively.

"We knew he felt...less than human because of what was done to him. We knew he was angry with us, but until last night we didn't realise how _hurt_ he was."

"He told me," said Richard with a nervous, gulping swallow, "that I wasn't his father any more, that I was his architect."

"He said that...he said that Jules Bashir had died when he was six. Jules—Julian—thought we had changed him because we were ashamed of him, that we didn't love him the way he was. But that's not true. It was because we loved him..." Amsha pulled a handkerchief out of a pocket and dabbed at her eyes. She took a deep breath and continued. "Julian broke the law by joining Starfleet and by practicing medicine. But we made him the way he is. The...responsibility...should be ours, not his, and we don't want to see Julian punished for something over which he had no control." She looked at Sisko and he could see the pleading in her eyes. "We loved our son. We still love him. But we changed him, and he's not our little boy any more. And we don't want to hurt him more than he has been hurt already. We want to find a way out, a way for Julian to keep his job and the life he has made for himself."

Sisko wiped a hand across his face. He'd never questioned Julian's performance. Why would he? After all, doctors were, as a group, akin to minor deities. They spoke in tongues and performed miracles. But even among doctors, Julian was brilliant.

Sisko experienced a flash of memory. He remembered Julian's discomfort when he'd been nominated for the Carrington Award. He'd been proud and pleased, but most of all, he'd been skittishly uneasy. Now that he thought about it, Julian's reaction to being chosen as the model for Zimmerman's LMH had been similar, albeit more muted.

Julian Bashir. Genetically enhanced. It made a sickening kind of sense.

Then Sisko remembered other things: the time he and Julian had spent together in the past, and the way Julian had followed his lead, providing loyal and surprisingly pleasant companionship. Somehow, as they'd come to know each other better while stranded in twenty-first century San Francisco, Julian had brought out in Sisko an almost paternal protectiveness.

He thought about how Julian had changed over the years. He'd calmed down and matured. Time and experience had tempered him. He'd adapted.

Sisko realised something else. Over time, he'd come to like the young doctor, and he remembered his musings of a few days before. He would miss Julian, if he were gone.

"All right," said Sisko. "Let's see what we can come up with."

-=o=-

Julian settled himself at one end of the couch in his living area and hugged his knees to his chest. He stared unseeingly out at the stars, his thoughts turned inwards.

He wondered how he was going to get through the next few hours. He planned what he was going to say to Sisko. He hoped he would see at least a smidgen of understanding in his commanding officer's eyes. Julian despised pity, but even pity would be preferable to hatred or revulsion.

Julian rehearsed what he was going to say over and over in his head, trying and failing to find a set of words he was happy with.

Time crawled.

Julian tried to look further into the future. He'd had years to plan for this eventuality, years to prepare his escape. Yet, Julian had no idea where to go, or what he could do.

Maybe he should ask Garak for advice. Garak knew too much about the pain of being an exile from his own people, and he probably would have some practical tips on how to disappear.

But talking to Garak—talking to anyone—would mean explaining and saying goodbye, and Julian, who prided himself on his bravery, knew he didn't have bravery enough for that.

He just wanted to vanish.

He clenched his eyes shut, determined to force down the waves of self-pity and misery that threatened to overwhelm him.

Finally, night segued into morning, and it was time to get ready.

Julian set about his normal routine, although nothing about it felt normal. He showered and shaved. His breakfast—Tarkalean tea and scones—nearly choked him. He put on a fresh uniform.

Then he sat on one of the window ledges, staring out at the universe, and waited as the chronometer crawled its way towards a time when Sisko could be expected to be in Ops.

-=o=-

The fourth shift was still on duty when Sisko, followed by Richard and Amsha Bashir, arrived in Ops. Sisko acknowledged his staff, said, "As you were," and went into his office.

He sat behind his desk and gestured to the Bashirs to pull up chairs. They remained standing, clinging tightly onto each other's hands.

Sisko sighed, tried to mask his irritation, and said, "This may take a while, so you might as well make yourselves comfortable."

They let go of each other just long enough for Richard to fetch two chairs. Then they sat and resumed holding hands.

Sisko felt their eyes on him as he tapped his comm panel and said, "Computer: what time is it in San Francisco, Earth?"

"Time in San Francisco, Earth, is currently fourteen thirty hours, local time."

"Computer: connect me to the Judge Advocate General's office, specifically Rear Admiral Bennett." Sisko decided that he might as well aim for the top. Besides, he wasn't sure who else to ask for. He supposed the computer could have supplied him with appropriate, alternative, names, if he had bothered to ask.

But that would have taken time, time he wasn't sure they had.

A good three-quarters of an hour, a lot of explanations, and a lot of deep breaths and suppressed curses, later, Sisko had navigated his way past seven gatekeepers and was finally face to hologram with Bennett, himself.

"Captain," said Bennett. "I have been given to understand that you have a personnel problem and that you require some legal advice."

"Yes, Admiral." Sisko inclined his head. "But, first of all, let me introduce you to Richard and Amsha Bashir. They're the parents of my Chief Medical Officer."

Bennett nodded in impatient acknowledgement of the introductions and gestured for Sisko to get a move on.

Sisko cleared his throat and said, "Something has been brought to my attention that puts Dr Bashir's career in jeopardy. I don't want to lose him, and I contacted you to see what our options are."

"You have my attention," said Bennett. "Carry on."

"Dr Bashir was genetically enhanced as a child."

Bennett raised his eyebrows. "What do you think I can do about it? The laws on genetic engineering are very clear. No genetically enhanced individual can practice medicine or serve in Starfleet."

Sisko sighed. "Dr Bashir is a very gifted physician. He has served on this station for almost five years. I don't want to lose him."

"You want me to make an exception for him? I can't do that, Captain. What kind of a message would that send out?"

"Actually, we were wondering whether we could make some kind of deal."

"A deal?"

"A plea bargain, perhaps," suggested Sisko. Was that the right terminology? Would Bennett understand what he was asking?

Richard stepped forward and cleared his throat nervously. "Julian had no say in what we did to him. It's not fair that he should be punished for something I did. I want to...take full responsibility."

"Take responsibility, how?" asked Bennett.

"What if I plead guilty to illegal genetic engineering...?"

"You'd have to be prepared to serve jail time."

Richard swallowed noisily. "I am."

"And Dr Bashir?"

"You're suggesting that he should serve jail time, too?" asked Sisko, trying to hide his alarm.

"No," said Bennett. "But I would need evidence that he demonstrates remorse for the laws he's broken."

Sisko said, "He's sorry. He doesn't know that we're having this meeting. He doesn't think he can challenge the law, so he's planning on resigning his commission this morning. I wanted to pre-empt that."

"Is he sorry for being enhanced? For breaking the law? Or for being discovered?"

"All of it," guessed Sisko.

Bennett was quiet for a second or two, then he said, "Just a moment, Captain..." His image leaned forward and he touched an invisible computer panel, muting the sound. Sisko watched as Bennett had a conversation with someone out of sight. He wished that he could lip read.

Bennett reactivated the sound, and he said, "Very well, Captain... If you want to keep this doctor of yours, in addition to a prison sentence for Mr Bashir, I will have to set a few other conditions. Plus, I want you to vouch for him."

"Vouch for him?"

"By his parents' own admission, Bashir has been genetically enhanced. He has lied about his genetic status for over fifteen years. He's broken laws. You say you want him, Captain. I say you have to vouch for him."

"I—"

"Captain. You contacted me. You wanted to sort this mess out. You wanted to find a way to keep this doctor of yours in the service. Well, I say, if you want him, you have to shoulder the responsibility. So, I say again, will you vouch for him?"

Sisko glanced at Julian's parents, who were still holding hands. Scared. Trying to put brave faces on things. Naïve. Well-meaning. And, in the case of Bashir-père, a little socially inept.

Genetically enhanced or not, Julian was still his parents' child.

"Yes," said Sisko sombrely. "I'll vouch for him."

"Good," said Bennett. "Now, let's hammer out the details."

Sisko breathed easier, knowing that the deal was agreed in principle.

The expression on Richard Bashir's face told Sisko that he, too, was relieved at the way things were turning out even as he struggled to conquer his fear of what he'd just agreed to.

-=o=-

"Computer: location of Captain Sisko?" asked Julian.

"Captain Sisko is in his office."

Julian stood up, adjusted his uniform, squared his shoulders and lifted his chin.

This is it, he thought. This is the end.

The corridors and the turbolift were empty. He thanked the fates for that small mercy. It was taking all his willpower to maintain his composure; he wasn't sure he could have managed to talk to anyone.

The turbolift reached Ops and Julian stepped off.

He walked with his head held resolutely high, determinedly looking neither right nor left, towards Sisko's office. He climbed the steps.

The doors slid open to admit him.

Julian realised that Sisko was not alone.


	3. Chapter 3

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Thanks again to those people who are reading, reviewing, following and / or favouriting. I appreciate your interest...and I hope that you will stick with this story.

-=o=-

**Chapter Three**

Julian opened the door to his quarters on the second ring. From the way he rubbed his eyes, Sisko got the impression that Julian had just woken up. His guess was confirmed when Julian said, "I'm sorry, Captain. I didn't get any sleep last night."

"Then I'm doubly sorry to have to disturb you now, but there are some things we need to discuss."

Julian nodded. "Please sit down. Would you like something to drink? Raktajino? Something else?"

"A raktajino would be fine. Thank you."

Sisko settled himself into an armchair and looked around. He'd never been in Julian's quarters before, and he was surprised at how little effort Julian had put into personalising his space. Then again, through the open bedroom door, he caught a glimpse of a holdall and a couple of larger bags lying on the floor. Julian really had wanted to leave the station...

Julian hadn't made much headway with his unpacking.

Sisko turned his attention back to Julian, himself, who was ordering the raktajino and a Tarkalean tea from the replicator.

Julian carried the drinks over, handed one to Sisko, and then sat on the furthest end of his couch, where he cradled his own.

Sisko watched Julian for a few moments, considering the man who was still his Chief Medical Officer. There was something disturbing about Julian's expression and the way he seemed to shrink in on himself.

Sisko thought back to his school days and of all the stories, both fact and fiction, he'd heard about the genetically enhanced. He couldn't reconcile any of them with the reality of the slender man in front of him. Sisko took in the taut skin over Julian's cheeks, the anguished set of his mouth and the way he gripped his mug so tightly that the skin over his knuckles bleached white.

Julian looked fragile, not like a superhuman.

Julian hadn't changed, Sisko told himself. He was the same person he'd always been. All that had changed was that Sisko had learned something new about him.

"Where are your parents?"

"In their quarters," Julian said. "We all needed some time to...adjust."

Sisko nodded. Then he said, "You lied. All these years... You've been lying to us all."

Julian didn't attempt to deny or justify it. "Yes, sir."

"Why?"

"I didn't want to. But I didn't think I had any choice." He looked away, then he said, "There are no opportunities for the genetically enhanced. All these _gifts_"—he snarled the word—"but legally I couldn't do anything with them. But, by the time I found out what had been done to me, I'd already been tagged as promising. I'd gone too far to be able to slip back into...mediocrity. If I'd stopped achieving, questions would have been asked. I—we—could have been found out. I didn't want my parents to go to prison and...and I didn't want to be locked away."

Sisko opened his mouth to ask if Julian had really believed that to be a possibility, but the words dried in his throat. Julian was trembling; he'd believed it. Feared it.

Feared it still.

"You've kept your commission," Sisko said invitingly, trying to cheer Julian up.

Julian pursed his lips. "Yes. But I could still have my licence to practice medicine revoked."

Sisko raised his eyebrows, and Julian elaborated. "The UFP Medical Standards Board is the ultimate arbiter of a person's right to practice medicine. I can't see the Board being happy with the deal. Admiral Bennett might have the power to authorise the retention of my commission and of my current posting, but he doesn't control my medical licence. Only the UFP Medical Standards Board can allow me to keep my licence, and I'm not sure that it will."

"Doctor?"

"If the Board feels that I have brought the profession into disrepute, it has the power to strike me off the medical register."

"Do you think that's likely?" breathed Sisko.

"I...don't know. I assumed that, if I didn't resign, I would be cashiered from the service. I thought my status would be resolved long before it became an issue for the Standards Board. I misjudged that situation, so perhaps I am misreading this."

"But you don't think so."

"I hope I'm wrong, but..." Julian looked down at his hands, shook his head, took a deep breath, and said, "I broke the law when I didn't declare my genetic status. I entered the medical profession illegally. By practicing as a doctor, I've broken Federation law every day. I can't see the Board making light of that, especially since Pierre Delon is its chair."

"Delon... Should I know the name?"

"Probably not. But he's well known in medical circles. And I know his views on genetic enhancement. He's...not an enthusiast."

"So, I may have been premature in brokering the deal?"

"Sir... I would have resigned today. By agreeing to the deal, you, my father and the admiral have at least given me a chance to continue practising medicine. And you have enabled me to stay in Starfleet, whatever happens. Without you, I wouldn't even have that. It would be...ungrateful...of me...to wish for anything more." He risked a glance at Sisko's face and said, "Thank you."

Sisko scowled. How could Julian be grateful for the hand he'd been dealt, miserable as it was? He sighed. "Don't thank me yet. We need to talk about the conditions Admiral Bennett attached to the deal."

"Conditions?"

"Your parents didn't tell you?"

"No. I suppose they were too relieved to have saved me."

The devil lay in the details of the deal Admiral Bennett had struck—details that Sisko feared Julian would never have agreed to, had he been given any choice.

Julian's parents had told him that Julian had wanted to leave the station quietly, that Julian had wanted to avoid the inevitable stares, the embarrassment and fuss that would surely follow his being outed, but the deal that Bennett had agreed to would drag the truth into the public domain. Julian might have kept his commission and his rank, but he was going to be made into a pariah. Sisko wondered whether Julian would think the trade was worth it.

Then again, given how Julian had expected to be treated, maybe he would. Something was better than nothing, no matter how meagre that something proved to be.

Sisko took a deep breath and said, "One of the conditions is that your genetic status be made public. All the senior officers you work with—present and future—must be informed of your status."

Julian nodded. "Miles already knows."

"Oh?"

"He was with Zimmerman when..."

"Oh. I see."

"He told me what had happened. I said I would resign. I guess that's why he didn't say anything to you."

How like Julian to worry about, and defend, his friend but not to protest on his own behalf. When, wondered Sisko, had he come to understand that Julian always put the needs of others far, far ahead of his own?

"I want to call a staff meeting this afternoon. I think the news will be better coming directly from me than via some memo."

"Do I need to be there? At the staff meeting?" Julian asked.

"Perhaps not. But I think it would look better if you were." Sisko took another deep breath. "Especially as, according to the terms of the deal, all the command crew must be given the right to veto working with you."

Julian blanched at the news, but he didn't protest. Instead, speaking to the untouched tea in his mug, he resignedly asked, "Is there anything else?"

"You have to submit yourself to full psychological profiling. Counsellor Telnorri can carry that out. And you have to have a medical, with full disclosure of your...abilities."

"I see."

"Finally, you won't be eligible for any more promotions. You can retain your rank as lieutenant, but you can't advance any higher."

Head bowed, and avoiding looking at Sisko's face, Julian nodded again.

"You should also know, the JAG is going to issue a news release tomorrow at 10:00 hours our time, giving the full details of the deal."

"Everyone's going to know, aren't they?"

Sisko wanted to wince at the pained dismay in Julian's voice. "Will that be so terrible?"

Julian didn't answer. He didn't need to, because he looked across at Sisko, causing Sisko to wonder how come he'd never before noticed how large, brown, and very like a hurt puppy's, Julian's eyes could be.

Yes, realised Sisko. As far as Julian was concerned, having his genetic status made public would be terrible. It was something shameful, and Julian was mortified and terrified at the thought of his shame becoming public.

"Doctor, you've got friends here. I know it won't be easy for you, but we'll help in any way that we can."

Julian nodded jerkily, an acknowledgement rather than heartfelt agreement. Sisko almost didn't catch Julian's whispered, "I hope you're right."

-=o=-

After leaving Julian's quarters, Sisko decided to seek out O'Brien. He finally found the bottom half of the Chief hanging out of one of the service tubes in Upper Pylon Two. O'Brien was swearing loudly and fluently, turning the air blue. While he was waiting, Sisko learned a surprising amount of Anglo-Saxon vocabulary.

Finally, when O'Brien lowered the tool he'd been poking into the station's circuitry, Sisko said, "Can you take a break for a minute?"

O'Brien pulled himself into the corridor. He stood up, ran a hand over his forehead, then turned to face the captain. "Sure. What's on your mind?"

"Dr Bashir," said Sisko.

"Ah," said O'Brien, suddenly looking guilty.

"I understand that you were present when the truth about Dr Bashir's genetic background was revealed," said Sisko.

O'Brien nodded. "Yes, sir. And Julian confirmed it afterwards. I suppose I should have reported it to you, but Julian said—"

Sisko held up his hand. "I know what Julian said. You're not in trouble, if that's what you're worried about."

"I'm more worried about him," said O'Brien.

"Understandable. He's your friend."

"Sir... Isn't there something we can do? It's not fair that—"

"Already done."

"Sir?"

"Rear Admiral Bennett agreed to a deal. Dr Bashir keeps his commission and his practice, and his father goes to prison."

O'Brien looked relieved. "Well, good!"

"I should warn you, though, that Dr Bashir is worried he might still lose his medical licence."

"Is that likely?"

"He seems to think so. But I'm not sure that he is very objective about the situation." Sisko considered O'Brien for a moment or two, then he said, "You probably know him better than anyone else on the station. Did you even suspect?"

"Didn't have a clue," said O'Brien. "Mind you, it's not something that immediately springs to mind, is it?"

"No. I suppose not. But didn't he ever say anything? Give you a hint?"

O'Brien seemed to give the question some thought, then he said, "Not so you'd notice. There are a couple of things that, with hindsight... But, no. In any case, Julian doesn't tell me much of anything. Our friendship isn't like that. We do things together. We don't sit around and bare our souls. Not unless we're well and truly bladdered, and even then, we're just as likely to—" He snapped his mouth shut.

Sisko raised his eyebrows. "Just as likely to, what?"

"Let's just say, you never want to hear our version of Jerusalem."

Sisko felt his eyebrows trying to crawl even further up his forehead.

O'Brien said, "Sir... There's something you should know. Julian reacted...badly...to being...discovered."

"That's not surprising, given that he managed to keep the secret all these years."

"Yes, sir. But it was more than that. It was...shame. I think he...hates...what he is."

Sisko's eyes bored into O'Brien. "What makes you say that?"

"What he said. And how he said it. The words he used. He said he was 'unnatural'. He also called himself a freak and a monster."

Sisko's mouth dropped open in shock. Julian's parents had said Julian was ashamed, but nothing they had said had hinted at such a level of self-loathing. "He said that?"

O'Brien nodded. "He wanted to resign before Zimmerman's report reached Starfleet Medical. He didn't want to stick around long enough for there to be a formal investigation."

That, at least, tied in with what Richard and Amsha had said.

"I thought you ought to know. I'm worried about him. And I think..."

"Go on."

"I think this revelation has hurt him even more than his time in the Dominion prison. He was coming back from that. I don't see him bouncing back from this any time soon."

"Then I think I ought to tell you, the terms of the deal are quite harsh. I suggest you keep an eye on your friend."

-=o=-

Julian wished he could stay in his quarters and never come out again, but he knew the captain was right; he wouldn't be doing himself any favours if he avoided the staff meeting. Even so, it took every ounce of his willpower to put one foot in front of the other as he made his way through the station's corridors.

"Hey! Julian! Wait for me!"

Julian slowed, letting Jadzia catch up with him.

"Any idea what this meeting's about?" she asked.

Julian didn't answer.

"Julian? Are you listening to me?"

"What? Oh..."

"I said, do you know why Sisko wants a staff meeting all of a sudden?"

"I—" The words caught in his throat.

"Julian?" asked Jadzia again, this time sounding worried. "You do know something, don't you?"

He couldn't lie to her, no matter how much he wanted to. He couldn't even manage to dissemble.

"Does this have anything to do with your parents meeting with Admiral Bennett this morning?"

Julian nodded miserably.

"What's going on?"

"Please... Jadzia... Please, just wait until we're in the meeting."

"Why?"

"Jadzia..."

"Well, all right," she said reluctantly. "But—"

He couldn't bear it. The strain, the pain and the shame were all too much. They weighed him down and twisted his insides. How would the others react? Would they be angry? Frightened? Disgusted? He couldn't believe that they'd all react as positively as Miles and Sisko. Which, and how many, of them would want to exercise their right of veto?

"I'm sorry," he said thickly. "I'm so sorry!" He lengthened his stride, leaving Jadzia standing, flat-footed, behind him.

He could feel her stare burning the space between his shoulder blades. Then he heard her running footsteps behind him. Finally, he felt her hand grab his shoulder and pull him to a standstill. She turned him around to look at her. Jadzia peered into Julian's face. She frowned, and he could tell that, having got his attention, she didn't know what to do with it. Finally, she said, "Julian... Are you all right?"

He didn't want to tell the truth, but he heard himself say, "No," anyway. His voice was small and hollow, and he couldn't bring himself to say any more. It took all his strength to turn around and resume walking.

"Julian..." she said again, and he was taken back to the conversation they'd had a couple of weeks before. He felt again the mixture of gratitude and hurt, only this time it was interlaced with loss and the realisation that this might be the last time she treated him as a friend.

Jadzia's not like that, he told himself. She'll at least try to understand. Won't she?

He felt sick, sicker even than when he'd found out that his parents had given away the secret. Almost as sick as when he was fifteen, and he'd found out what had been done to him.

Then, he'd locked himself in the bathroom and thrown up. He'd sunk down onto the floor, rested his head against the cool walls, and done his best to block out the cries of his mother, begging him to let her in, let her in.

He swallowed, feeling the sweet taste of excessive saliva, and he prayed that this time he'd be able to keep his nausea under control.

_Monster._

_Freak._

_There's nothing you can do to change that, so cope!_

Somehow, the old, familiar mantra helped.

He stood up straighter and determinedly continued on his way.

Jadzia fell into step alongside him. Although she threw a few glances in his direction, which he caught out of the corner of his eye, she said nothing more, and he was grateful for her silence.

-=o=-

Sisko, O'Brien and Odo were already in the wardroom when Julian and Jadzia arrived.

Julian made a beeline for the chair between Sisko, at the head of the table, and O'Brien, who was seated to one side.

Miles put a hand on Julian's shoulder and quietly said, "You okay?" Julian knew that Miles's question, sloppily worded, meant, "Are you as all right as you can be under the circumstances?"

He nodded.

He could feel Jadzia's appraising eyes on him and he knew that she'd witnessed the exchange. He bowed his head, suddenly finding the tabletop immensely interesting.

Worf and Kira arrived together. They offered greetings to everyone else, and sat down.

Finally, with everyone assembled, Sisko began to talk. "Thank you all for coming at such short notice."

"What's so urgent, Captain?" asked Kira.

"Has the Dominion finally declared war?" Worf sounded eager.

"No," said Sisko sombrely. "Nothing like that. However, a matter has come to my attention, and I'm obligated to apprise you of it."

Julian wanted to curl in on himself and disappear. They were going to hate him. He knew it. He'd known it for half his life. He felt his hands begin to tremble, and he trapped them between his thighs to still them.

"As you are aware, Dr Bashir was selected as the model for Starfleet's Long-term Medical Hologram."

There were murmured acknowledgements from around the table.

"Dr Zimmerman has now shelved the project, and will be leaving the station tomorrow. In the course of his work, he discovered something that he believes makes Dr Bashir unsuitable for computer modelling."

Kira sniggered. "What? Did the hologram talk too much? Did he find out that Dr Bashir wasn't quite as perfect as he thought?"

Kira. Kira would exercise her right of veto. It was already beginning, the despising, the hating...

"Major!" barked Sisko.

"What?" said Kira, protesting the reprimand he'd loaded into his single word.

"Dr Zimmerman discovered that Dr Bashir was genetically enhanced as a child."

Julian heard a sharp intake of breath. Not surprising, really. Shock had been inevitable. If anything, the surprise was that there was only one gasp. Julian, still staring at the tabletop, wondered who it had been.

"Julian?" asked Jadzia, and her gentle use of his name was almost his undoing. "Is that true?"

Miserably, Julian muttered, "Yes."

Kira said, "So?"

Worf enlightened her. "It is very illegal in the Federation."

"Illegal?" asked Odo. He didn't seem censorious, merely curious.

"Yes," said Worf. "And with good reason."

Sisko said, "I want you all to remember that Dr Bashir had no control over what happened. This is something that was done to him. He is not to blame."

"But he has concealed his status," said Worf. "That, too, is illegal."

"What choice did he have?" demanded O'Brien, rushing to Julian's defence. "What would you have done in his position?"

"I would not have lied," said Worf. "He has behaved dishonourably. Someone has to be punished!"

"Why?" said O'Brien.

"Because, without punishment, there is no deterrent."

"Worf may have a point," said Odo, "if Dr Bashir has broken the law."

"My father is going to prison," said Julian quietly. His voice brought the rest of the room to silence. For the first time since the start of the conversation, Julian forced himself to look up.

Miles's cheeks were red and his face was set with protective determination. Jadzia looked worried. Worf looked belligerent, but then he seldom looked any other way. Odo looked like Odo, and Kira merely looked curious.

Julian looked down again, lapsing back into silence. The conversation rekindled, flowing around and then crashing into him, threatening to overwhelm him.

Julian couldn't bear to listen any more, and he tried to tune out their voices. But words and phrases edged past his defences anyway: Eugenics Wars... Atrocity... Abomination...

Then Sisko sliced through everything. "That's enough!"

The room fell silent once more. Sisko's voice seemed to boom in the quiet. "We are not here to rehash history or to debate the ethics of genetic engineering. I've asked you here to tell you that Rear Admiral Bennett of the JAG _has already agreed_ to a deal that allows Dr Bashir to retain his commission and his posting here on Deep Space Nine. The terms of the deal required that you, as senior staff on this station, be notified of Dr Bashir's genetic status, and I've seen to that. But you should also know that you all have the option of not working with the doctor, if you choose not to."

"What!" yelled a chorus of people, making Julian jump. Odd, he thought, that they found the right of veto more shocking than the idea that he'd been enhanced.

"That's...that's ridiculous!" said Kira. "Why wouldn't we work with him?"

Again, there was a chorus of assent. Julian wasn't sure whether they'd all agreed with her or not, but he was comforted at the thought that most of them had.

Maybe Sisko was right. Maybe he did have friends here. His eyes pricked, and he had to blink rapidly.

"You should also know that the JAG is going to issue a news release at 10:00 hours tomorrow, our time. I want you to be prepared for any...difficulties...that may arise."

"Difficulties, Captain?" asked Odo.

"I hope there won't be any, but the issue of genetic engineering is a highly emotive one, Constable. We need to be prepared."

"Julian..." Jadzia's voice was rich in sympathy. The sound of it twisted Julian's insides. She didn't hate him. She didn't! "Is there anything we can do for you? Any way we can help?"

Julian couldn't speak. She was concerned for him! She knew about him, and she still cared! He wanted to cry with relief. Choked, it was all he could do to shake his head.

-=o=-

Sisko stood at the window of the empty wardroom and thought about the conversations he'd had with Julian and with O'Brien. Back in Julian's quarters, he'd thought he'd seen in Julian's body language how difficult the doctor was finding his current situation, but now he wasn't so sure. O'Brien's subsequent words of concern had made Sisko wonder just how much of his true reaction Julian had hidden, and how well.

Then he thought about the meeting that had just finished. There, in the wardroom, Julian's body language had screamed misery and fear and shame. His recommendation that Julian attend had been unintentionally cruel. Julian had been forced to sit through all the arguments and to feel first-hand the shockwaves Sisko's announcement had sent around the room.

Sisko had hoped the meeting would go better than it had, but had he really expected it to?

Yes, he thought. He had. He'd been naïve enough to think that all his senior staff would be as unquestioning and accepting as O'Brien and himself.

Sisko sighed.

Until today, he'd thought Julian was an open book. Now he realised that Julian had only ever opened to certain pages. He'd kept his past well hidden, and Sisko found himself wondering what else Julian had managed to conceal over the years. What else might he feel the need to hide in the future?

He resolved to keep a closer eye on his younger colleague.

-=o=-

Julian sat at his desk in the infirmary. He splayed his long-fingered hands across the computer console, savouring the familiar feel of it.

He could barely believe that he was still here, that the infirmary was still his...at least for the time being. Yet he felt too exhausted to feel happy. Maybe, once he'd caught up on his sleep, or he'd had time enough to assimilate the events of the last twenty-six hours, he'd feel euphoric. Right now, however, he felt wrung out. Drained.

The day had been a rollercoaster of highs and lows, twists and turns. And he still had a knot of tension in his stomach, because he knew that his ordeal wasn't over. Maybe it would never be over. His life had changed irrevocably, undoubtedly in ways he had yet to fully recognise, let alone understand.

"Hey."

Julian looked up and smiled. It wasn't one of his trademark incandescent smiles that showed just how wide his mouth was and how readily the skin around his eyes crinkled with good humour. Rather it was a muted and weary affair, but he was smiling, something he could not have imagined doing when he'd got dressed that morning. "Hello, Miles," he said.

"I was wondering if you were up for a drink. Quark's?"

For a brief moment, Julian was tempted, but then reason—or exhaustion, or reaction—kicked in. He shook his head. "Not tonight, if you don't mind."

Miles's eyebrows rose. "Don't you want to celebrate?"

"Celebrate?" asked Julian.

"You're still here. C'mon. First round's on me."

Julian was grateful to Miles, he really was. But, even so...

"Julian?" Miles's voice switched suddenly from happy enthusiasm to concern. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," said Julian. He stood up and began to pace. "I just..." He shook his head. "It's all so...unexpected. Overwhelming. I need time to..." He shook his head again, more emphatically this time. "And I really ought to spend some more time with my parents. They're leaving tomorrow."

"All right," said Miles. "But if you change your mind, you know where to find me."

-=o=-

The day had been long, and there was still something Sisko needed to do.

"Jake," said Sisko, by way of greeting when he entered his son's quarters.

"Hi, Dad." Jake got out of his chair, and put the PADD he'd been reading down on the table. He greeted his father with a cheerful grin.

"What are you reading?" Sisko asked.

"_Penumbra_. It's a novel by Augustine Girardot. She's just won some big literary prize, so I thought I'd check it out."

"Any good?"

Jake's nose wrinkled with distaste. "I don't see what all the fuss is about. It's just a depressing story about some really screwed up woman whose life was ruined by never being able to match up to the shadow left behind by her dead brother."

"Sounds...cheery."

"Believe me, it's not!" Jake's irritation was almost comical, and Sisko felt the stirrings of a chuckle bubble deep down in his chest. Sisko loved him, wouldn't change a thing about him.

Something twisted painfully in his stomach.

"Dad? What's wrong?"

"Jake... Can we talk?"

"Sure." Jake sat on the couch and looked expectantly at his father.

Sisko sat beside him, rubbed a hand over his face, and said, "What do you know about the Eugenics Wars?"

Jake's eyebrows rose. "The Eugenics Wars? That's almost ancient history! What are you asking me about them for?"

"Humour me."

"Okay." Jake took a few moments to dredge up the information he'd learned in school, then he said, "Sometime in the middle of the twentieth century, scientists genetically engineered some humans to be mentally and physically superior to normal humans. Only, the scientists didn't really know what they were doing. Instead of creating a super race that would lead humanity into a new era of enlightenment, peace and prosperity, they bred a bunch of power hungry, arrogant despots. The Augments grew up, grabbed power, staged coups, and fought between themselves and with normal humans. Millions of people died before the Augments were finally overthrown." Jake looked at Sisko. "Do you want me to tell you about the origins of World War Three, too, or any of the other incidents through the centuries?"

"No." Sisko shook his head. He looked at Jake for a few seconds, then he said, "What do you know about genetically enhanced people."

"Nothing, really. Except that genetic engineering is banned because it doesn't work for humans. The Augments all had personality problems. They were violent and aggressive. It's not...not natural."

"Is that what you've been taught, or is that your opinion?"

"Both, I suppose. Dad, what's going on? Why are you asking me all these questions?"

Sisko stood up. He strolled over to the window and looked out at the stars beyond. Then he turned back. "I was taught the same things you were. Thought the same things that you do. From the Eugenics Wars onwards, anti-Augment sentiments have become ingrained in the human psyche."

"So?" asked Jake.

"It's about to become public knowledge that someone on this station was enhanced as a child. The JAG's office is going to make a statement to the Federation News Service."

Jake's eyes grew round. "It's big news, then? Who is it? One of the humans?" Sisko could see the possibilities running through Jake's head and him coming up empty. "Do I know him? Her?"

Sisko nodded. "He's a he. And I want you to remember that you didn't know who he was. Couldn't guess. Because, apart from the genetic enhancements, he's just like the rest of us. He's not violent or aggressive. He had no say in what happened to him, and he didn't even find out what had been done to him until he was fifteen. He's a good man, and the next few days and weeks are going to be difficult for him. I just wanted to make you understand before..." Sisko shook his head.

"How could you not know something like that about yourself?"

"Honestly? Probably because there is such a taboo around genetic engineering that it would never cross your mind that anyone would do something like that to you. Least of all your parents." Sisko ran a hand over his face. "I keep asking myself, how would I have felt if I'd found out I'd been genetically enhanced?"

"Who is it, Dad? You might as well tell me if, as you say, it's about to be plastered all over the news."

Sisko sighed and said, "Dr Bashir."

"No way!"

Sisko nodded and watched as Jake tried the idea on for size. Then Jake said, "Well, it does make a kind of sense."

"You think?"

"Oh, come on, Dad! The man's a genius. You've said so yourself. And remember when I went to that conference, and I was going to write a profile of him?"

"How could I forget? You ended up in the middle of a battle on Ajilon Prime."

"On the runabout, he got completely carried away, telling me about his work. I didn't understand a word of what he was saying. And then, later, somehow he managed to carry a portable generator, by himself, from the runabout back to those caves before getting admitted to ICU."

"So, you're okay with this?"

Jake shrugged. "Sure." Then he chuckled as he got off the couch.

"Now what?"

"I was just thinking about Dr Bashir. I can't see him trying to take over the world. On Ajilon Prime, he was more worried about what you'd do to him for taking me into a war zone! Besides, he's too busy being a doctor to have time for megalomania!"

Sisko smiled at the retreating back of his son and felt inordinately proud.

Now, if only the rest of the station's residents would take the news so well...


	4. Chapter 4

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Thanks for reading, and special thanks to those who have liked this story enough to follow, favourite and / or review.

-=o=-

**Chapter Four**

Julian was back in Telnorri's office. He felt as though he'd spent more time there in the last two weeks than in all his previous time aboard the space station.

Previously, he'd simply been a fellow professional, talking through patient referrals. Now he had become a patient, or, he thought darkly, a victim.

He felt as though he knew this room intimately. He had become familiar with the lumps and bumps in the chair cushions. He'd noted the scuffs on the furniture, scratches and marks on the walls, the way one of the pictures refused to hang dead straight and how, no matter how many times Telnorri adjusted it, it would list about five degrees to the left. He'd become familiar with Telnorri, himself: the way the hairs in his eyebrows varied in length; the hairs that grew out of his ears; the ragged skin on his fingers that he chewed instead of his nails...

Julian had become intimately acquainted with the starscape visible through the windows. If he wanted, he could see it when he closed his eyes. He knew which stars had planets orbiting them, what class those planets were, which were inhabited... Cataloguing them had become an almost meditative exercise, which he used when he wanted to distract himself from the rigours of his counselling sessions.

Despite his best efforts, nothing was managing to distract him today.

His secret was out, and that would change the shape, the focus, of these meetings. It was inevitable.

"I didn't understand," said Telnorri. "You're brilliant. You know this about yourself. Yet you were still harbouring feelings of insecurity. Why? Which was the real you? They couldn't both be true, could they? It seemed very paradoxical. Until now. I hope, now I know what's been holding you back in our sessions, you'll talk to me. Actually, you'll have to, if you want me to sign off on this part of the deal."

So. There it was. Telnorri had power over him, and he fully intended to use it. This wasn't any form of counselling Julian recognised. This wasn't, "Let me support you, while you work through your problems." This was coercion.

The change spoke not too subtly of his altered status. He was now less than an equal, no longer due peer-to-peer respect.

Well. He'd expected nothing more, had he? Actually, hadn't he expected rather less than this?

Telnorri must have seen the cascade of emotions and thoughts reflected in Julian's expression, because he smiled apologetically. "I didn't mean that to sound so harsh. I'm sorry. If it makes you feel any better, think of this as the means to an end, a bit of pain and discomfort, but worth it in the long run."

Was Telnorri offering platitudes? Or did he mean what he said? The only bit that rang true was that this session—and any that followed—were the means to an end.

So... He might as well get it over with.

"All right," said Julian dubiously. "What do you want to know?"

-=o=-

"...and if that doesn't work, we'll try a blindfold!"

The force of his relief made Julian want to grin. Sure, Miles was annoyed with him, but he wasn't resentfully angry. Julian could live with annoyance. Miles had found him annoying from the day they'd met. In fact, Miles's annoyance was both familiar and deeply reassuring.

Julian felt the tension in his shoulders ease, and he felt more relaxed than he had in days. All was not yet right with his world, but it was better than it had been in what felt like a very long time.

Miles threw his darts, then waited for Julian to follow suit.

Julian concentrated on hitting the target and mused that the game really was more fun this way. It was a novel experience, trying to do his best rather than trying his damnedest not to.

Match over, with victory going to Julian by the narrowest of margins, the two men decided to take a break. They cozied up to the bar, where they ordered two pints of beer.

"What was all that about?" asked Quark, as he put their glasses down.

"What was what about?" asked Miles.

"You making him," Quark pointed at Julian, "stand further away from the dartboard."

Julian didn't say anything, though he felt his cheeks warm.

"Ah, that," said O'Brien. "I'm handicapping him."

"Why?"

"Levels the playing field. He's better than me."

"Really?" Quark looked at Julian thoughtfully. "I've never seen any evidence of that before. Have you been hustling the chief, Doctor? I never thought you had it in you." He smirked and sounded mildly impressed.

"I haven't been hustling anyone," said Julian. "I wouldn't do that."

O'Brien shook his head. "Of course not. You've just been letting me win."

"He has? You have? Why?" asked Quark.

Julian's cheeks were burning now. He couldn't bring himself to answer.

O'Brien said, "Turns out our Julian here has certain...advantages."

"Ah!" said Quark. "I take it this relates to something I heard on the news."

Julian nodded morosely.

"Well, Doctor, I have to admit, you're full of surprises. I just wish you'd let me in on your little secret a couple of days ago, before everyone else found out. We could have taken the opportunity to turn an excellent profit."

Julian lifted his eyes towards Quark, astonished. "That's it? That's all you have to say? That we missed out on an opportunity for profit?"

Quark shrugged. "What else do you want me to say?"

"Nothing," said Julian, and he meant it.

Quark wandered off to see to other customers. Julian and Miles made inroads into their beers.

Finally, two-thirds of the way down his glass, Miles said, "You could have told me, you know. Before, I mean."

Julian stared at Miles in disbelief. Did he have any idea what he was suggesting? Julian could no more have told Miles that he'd been genetically enhanced than he could have flown to Bajor under his own power. The very idea that Miles thought Julian could have broken over a decade and a half of ingrained silence made him ache. "When?" asked Julian, his voice thick with emotion. "What would you have done if I'd told you in the first week I was on the station? In the first month? Even the first year? You could barely stand to be in the same room as me back then."

"That changed," said Miles. "I changed."

"I know. But I still couldn't tell you. I couldn't tell anyone." Julian stared into his glass, then said, genuinely curious, "When do you think I could have told you? When would have been the right time? Not too soon, but not so late that you'd think I'd missed my moment?"

Miles considered Julian, his expression thoughtful. "Maybe you've got a point. Maybe there never was a right time. But I don't like the idea that you've been carrying this on your own for so long. I wish I could have helped. That's all."

Julian mumbled, "You have helped. More than you know."

There was a lull in the conversation while they both turned their attention back to their drinks.

"Did you really think I wouldn't understand?" asked Miles eventually.

"Honestly?" said Julian. "Miles...I didn't think anyone would." He looked up, straight into Miles's face.

Amazingly, Miles seemed to appreciate the full import of what Julian was trying to say. Leastways, he nodded slowly and thoughtfully. "I just wish..."

"What?"

"I wish you could have trusted me."

"I do trust you," said Julian. "More than I've ever trusted anyone. But I still couldn't tell you. Besides, it wasn't just about trust. It was also about...what I am, and what I'd like to be."

"You'll have to explain that one to me."

Julian took a poorly coordinated gulp from his beer glass that did much to belie the notion of his having enhanced hand-eye coordination. He mustered his thoughts as he drank. Then he said, "I was in denial. I was...pretending." He sighed, then said, "I was fifteen when I found out what my parents had had done to me. But, even before that, I knew I was different. I stood out from my peers, at first because I was slower than them, then, later, because I was smarter. Children—some children, anyway—are very...unforgiving of difference. I was bullied, and all I ever wanted was to fit in." Julian shrugged. "When I came here, I thought that, with there being so many different people, all experts in their fields, even if I wasn't exactly normal, at least I'd be normal enough not to stand out."

There was another pause while Miles considered what Julian had just told him and Julian wondered whether he had said too much.

"Promise me one thing?" said Miles.

"What?"

"You'll never _let_ me win again."

Julian nodded. "I promise."

There was yet another lull in the conversation, during which more beer was consumed. Then, with barely a quarter inch of beer left, Miles slammed his glass down on the bar and exploded. "How could you stand it, losing all the time?"

"I didn't lose _all_ the time," said Julian, embarrassed.

"Often enough to make me feel good. Don't you like winning?"

Julian looked at Miles, wondering how he was supposed to answer. Yes, he liked winning. He just didn't have much experience of it. He hadn't dared to win too often.

Maybe Miles read something of his confusion in his expression, because he said, "But... You used to play competitive tennis."

"I gave it up."

"What about racquetball, at the Academy?"

"Someone spotted me when I was practicing by myself." Julian shrugged. "I shouldn't have played, but I couldn't see a way to get out of it. And, even though I knew it was wrong, I enjoyed it."

"And with me?"

Julian looked down at the counter and didn't answer.

"You let me win! Or, at least, you made sure I didn't lose too badly."

Julian felt the guilt well up inside him, and he blurted out, "I'm sorry! All right? I'm sorry about all of it!"

"I'm not looking for an apology! I'm just trying to understand."

"What's to understand?" asked Julian miserably. "I cheated, just like I cheated to get into medical school. Just like I cheated on my finals. It's as much of a cheat to lose deliberately as to win unfairly. But, if I'd used my abilities, that would have been cheating, too. Wouldn't it?"

"Damned if you do, damned if you don't, eh?"

"Something like that, yeah," muttered Julian.

"But...all those games... What was in it for you? You can't enjoy losing, surely?"

"Actually, I sort of do," admitted Julian. "Sometimes. There's an intellectual challenge to it, to get things wrong by just the right amount. But that's not why I did it."

"Then, why? Because you had to hide what you can do?"

"No," said Julian. "If I'd only wanted to hide, I wouldn't have played at all."

"Then, why?"

"Because...I liked spending time with you and...I wanted a friend."

Miles took a final swig from his glass. "Right, then." Then he plunked his glass down, stood up, slapped Julian on the back, and said, "What d'you say to another game?"

Julian's lips stretched into a smile, hearing in Miles's words everything he'd left unsaid.

-=o=-

Telnorri handed over his official report to the captain.

"Sit down," said Sisko, gesturing towards the couch in his office. "I want to hear about your findings."

Telnorri nodded. "Very well, sir."

Together they moved across the room and sat down on the couch. Once they'd made themselves comfortable, Telnorri said, "The first thing I need to say is that I believe there is nothing about Dr Bashir's personality or behaviours to concern Starfleet. And that is what I've said in my report."

Sisko nodded. He hadn't thought that there was, but it was a relief to hear that Telnorri had come to the same conclusions he had.

"However," said the counsellor, "there are a few things that concern me and that, given Dr Bashir's somewhat unusual circumstances, I think you should know about."

Sisko said, "Go on."

"The most important thing is that Dr Bashir finds it hard to form deep emotional attachments."

Sisko frowned slightly and said, "Is that a side effect of the enhancements?"

"It's possible, but I doubt it. He wants to be able to; you can see it in his behaviours. But his background has left him ill-equipped."

"His background...?" prompted Sisko.

"Dr Bashir experienced a...disjointed childhood. His family moved around a lot when he was growing up. He didn't stay in any one place long enough to make friends. Additionally, his unusual genius would have set him apart from other children. Those experiences on their own would be enough to explain why he has problems." Telnorri warmed to his theme and continued. "But, now, on top of that, I understand that he experienced developmental delays until he was six, at which point he was genetically enhanced. He went from being in the bottom five per cent for IQ to off the scale at the top. Both led to ostracism from his peers. Then, at the age of fifteen, he learned what had been done to him."

Sisko leaned forward as he focussed on what Telnorri was telling him.

"Given the curricula in Federation schools—particularly those on Earth—along with the cultural taboos surrounding genetic engineering, that discovery can only have been traumatic. From what little he has told me, it's evident that Dr Bashir had a sheltered upbringing. His parents protected both him and his secret, and he has no other family. So, when Bashir found out about the enhancements, he found himself estranged from his parents and with no network of support." Telnorri paused and glanced at Sisko to make sure that the captain was still following him.

Sisko nodded for him to continue.

"That man barely had a childhood," said Telnorri. "He's felt compelled to hide the truth for both his own and his parents' sakes. It goes without saying that he has never received any counselling to come to terms with what was done to him. He has rarely allowed himself to get close to anyone. Certainly, he's been careful to keep most of his romantic relationships casual, and those that have become serious, he's ended. Probably the most meaningful attachment he's managed to form—certainly the longest lasting—has been with your Chief of Operations. To be frank, it's a wonder that he copes as well as he does."

Sisko twiddled his thumbs as he thought about what he'd just heard. Counsellor Telnorri was very clear: any deficiencies in Julian's social skills were not because of the changes that had been made to his genetic code but because of all the surrounding circumstances. Not because of his nature. Because of how he had been nurtured.

He thought about the terms and conditions Bennett had set and he shuddered. O'Brien's concerns had fuelled his own, and Sisko understood that Julian was going to need all the support and reassurance he could get. But Sisko now understood that Julian was singularly ill-equipped to look after himself and to seek help when he needed it.

"Thank you, Counsellor. That has been most helpful."

Telnorri stood up. Then, just as he was about to leave, he looked down at Sisko and said, "There is one other thing: Dr Bashir's ability to work with other species is highlighted in his personnel records. Indeed, that ability is something that Starfleet looks for, and values, in its officers. What the records don't say is why he is so willing to work with non-humans. Dr Bashir is more relaxed around non-human species than around other humans, and that was clearly a factor in his decision to request assignment here. He feels alienated from other humans. And given the laws and fears about the genetically enhanced, it is easy to see why.

"He's good at what he does. But, as a coping strategy, avoiding humans is unhealthy. He needs more human contact."

Sisko looked at Telnorri. "So, in short, you're saying...?"

"Dr Bashir needs to have a better support network. If his family can't provide it, then his friends will have to. He needs to form relations with other humans. He also needs to come to terms with himself, and with the fact that he has been outed."

-=o=-

Samil Fahid stood in the shadows, watching and listening to the ebb and flow of the interview. The Federation News Service had sent one of its best-known correspondents, a human called Elizabeth Lilienfeld, to interview the shadow minister.

Fahid knew, from the biographical information the FNS had given him, that Lilienfeld was in her early fifties and that, in her time, she'd covered peace negotiations as well as a range of minor, and not so minor, conflicts. He was very aware of the coup he had engineered by getting her to carry out the interview. He was also aware that her name attached to the resulting broadcast would increase ratings across the quadrant by at least twenty-five per cent. Her name alone would make people tune in and would help to ensure that the shadow minister's profile increased, and, with it, his own.

So far, the interview had gone smoothly. Neither journalist nor politician had put a foot wrong. Ghazi had spouted forth on UFP politics without saying anything controversial. Fahid knew that Ghazi's approach was carefully calculated. Of course he did; he'd helped to plan it. Ghazi would show how reasonable he was, how sensible and rational, and that would help to lull people into supporting him on more contentious matters. He was saving his most forthright views for the inevitable questions about the upcoming war.

Sure enough...

"You're on record," said Lilienfeld, "as supporting a reduction in resources for space exploration. Could you explain your thinking?"

Ghazi smiled paternally and leaned forward in his chair. "The worst thing the Federation ever did was to confuse its military with a mission of science and exploration. As a result, the role of Starfleet has become diluted and unclear. It has also, because of the breadth of its activities, become too influential in quadrant politics."

"Go on..." prompted Lilienfeld.

Ghazi warmed to his theme. "Starfleet has become the natural home of the idealistic and the liberal-minded. Starfleet's mission being to seek out new civilisations? That sounds fine in theory, but has anyone given any thought to what this has meant in practice?

"What happens when these new civilisations turn out to be hostile? In recent years, we've had to face the Borg threat. There have been conflicts with the Cardassians. The Klingons broke the Khitomer Accords. And now we're facing the worst threat of all: the Dominion. Yet Starfleet's first response is always to negotiate for peace. It makes us weak. Plus, our starships aren't designed for battle. They're hybrids, designed to do a bit of everything, but unable to do any of it well. Having families on board? That automatically limits the risks any commanding officer can take, and again it makes us look weak. We don't need to find new worlds. We need to protect the ones we already have. We need to be tough! And resourcing exploration activities is distracting Starfleet from its most urgent priorities.

"Starfleet has become the natural home of the namby-pamby, liberal-minded and weak-willed. President Jaresh-Inyo is an idealist, and he lacks the strength of personality required to stand against the cult of Starfleet. We need someone who is prepared to lead us into war. No shilly-shallying. No appeasement."

"That's rather a...strong...opinion."

"Is it? We need to end Starfleet's tendency to pander to known threats."

"'Pander to known threats...' What exactly do you mean by that?"

"A case in point, which is currently in the news... You will be aware of course that the Starfleet JAG office has recently brokered a deal to allow a genetically enhanced individual to retain his commission in the service, a commission that had been obtained through deception?" Ghazi make his statement into a question.

"I believe we are all familiar with that case, yes," agreed Lilienfeld. "I don't understand, however, what that has to do with your view that Starfleet should be preparing for war."

"It has nothing to do with it, other than both things being symptomatic of the same malaise. Being idealistic makes us vulnerable. The liberals in the JAG overreached themselves when they made this deal. The law is the law. The JAG should be enforcing it, not bending it. And, you will notice, President Jaresh-Inyo has not made any statement about this matter. History tells us that the genetically enhanced are a danger to us all."


	5. Chapter 5

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Thank you for your interest in this story. (I'm assuming that, if you've reading this, you are interested, right?) Again, thanks to those of you who have reviewed, favourited and followed. I'm delighted to know that there is an audience for this, even though the show has been over for, wow, fifteen years. Special thanks to manuflipt, who kindly gave me food for thought in a private message.

Finally, a note for the guest reviewer who suggested that a scene with Garak and Bashir would be nice: sorry but, beyond a few mentions and—maybe—a cameo towards the end, Garak won't feature in this particular story.

-=o=-

**Chapter Five**

"... History tells us that the genetically enhanced are a danger to us all."

The FNS transmission played in all its three-dimensional glory, the sound filling Quark's bar.

It made Julian's skin crawl. Just when he'd been daring to hope that the worst was over, that his "outing" might actually fade into the barely remembered realm of yesterday's news... He felt his face and ears burn. Even his neck felt flushed. He wanted to get up and walk away, but he feared that would draw more attention than if he sat still and stayed quiet. As it was, people at nearby tables were looking at him, and some of them were muttering.

"Let us learn from history," continued Ghazi. "Let us not pander to this individual. The deal should never have been struck and, if I could, I'd overturn it. Despite what the more left-wing commentators have to say, this person..." He flicked his fingers, as he hunted around his head to find the name. "This Julian Bashir has already proven that he's a danger to society. He has demonstrated a willingness to flout the law and to lie to get what he wants. Having that man continue to serve in Starfleet is an outrage."

Throughout the bar, the muttering crescendoed into a cacophony of raised voices.

"Bloody hell!" exclaimed Miles, briefly blotting the transmission out. "Remind me never to vote for him!"

"He has a point, though," said Worf. "Starfleet's ships are not warships, and Starfleet is weakened as a military force as a result."

"But you don't agree with what he said about Julian, do you?" asked Kira.

Worf's silence provided its own answer, and Julian guessed that, had the others at the staff meeting not swayed him, Worf would have exercised his right of veto.

Jadzia turned to Julian and said, "You're very quiet."

"What would you have me say?" asked Julian softly.

"I don't know. Something about how unfair all this is? That you wouldn't vote for him, either?"

What would saying anything achieve? Thanks to the laws relating to the citizenship rights of the genetically enhanced, he couldn't change anything. Since he'd been outed, he couldn't have voted for Shiva Ghazi, even if he'd wanted to.

Worf saved Julian from having to reply. "Nothing the shadow minister said was factually inaccurate, and he's entitled to his opinion."

"Even if it's wrong?" demanded Miles.

"That it's wrong is also a matter of opinion," said Worf.

Everyone at the table turned their attention back to the broadcast, but the noise level in the bar had now risen enough to make it difficult to hear more than snatches of dialogue. Julian could hear the nearby conversations, the speculation, the arguments about, and the agreement with, what Ghazi had said. He had to force himself not to squirm in his seat.

Finally, from the body language of the participants and the few words he could make out, Julian gathered that the interview was winding up. He planned his exit quickly but carefully, timing it to coincide with the inevitable post-broadcast rush for the bar, then he made polite excuses and hurried out of Quark's.

Miles rushed to follow him, and Julian realised that his excuses hadn't fooled his friend. Miles knew that he was running away.

"Julian? Julian! Wait!"

He slowed, letting Miles catch up. Then, by silent accord, they walked away from the promenade, heading towards the habitat ring.

"You okay?"

Julian nodded. "I'm fine."

Miles almost laughed. "When someone says they're fine like that, it means they're not. Besides, Jadzia was right. You were awfully quiet."

Julian didn't bother asking Miles why he'd asked if he was all right, if he'd already known the answer. Instead, he simply sighed and said, "I thought..." He shrugged, lapsing back into silence.

"What did you think?"

Julian said, "I hoped things would get better."

"How do you mean?"

"These last few weeks... They haven't been easy. First there was the prison and coming home and then... And, it's a lot to get used to, everyone knowing... But I'd hoped things might begin to settle down. I'd hoped that my life might get back to something approaching normal, or as normal as it can be under the circumstances. I was kidding myself."

"Julian..." said Miles. "Nobody's going to take some idiot politician seriously. Especially not people who know you."

"But it's not just one politician, is it? You were in the bar. You must have seen the way people were staring. And, did you hear what they were saying? Y-you don't realise how unusual you and Sisko and the others are." Julian's voice cracked, and he had to struggle to hold himself together to get the words out. "I've tried to tell myself that it'll blow over. But it won't. I know it won't. And n-now, how many people will have seen that...that..."

"Muck?"

Julian nodded in heartfelt agreement with the word Miles had chosen.

"Too many, I suppose," said Miles.

"And the ones that didn't will hear about it soon enough."

-=o=-

Looking back, there had been a calm before the storm: seventy-eight hours that tempted Julian to think that perhaps the residents of Deep Space Nine would accept a genetic freak in their midst. Seventy-eight hours of misguided hope that came to an abrupt end with Shiva Ghazi's broadcast.

Word got around the station quickly, a wildfire of gossip, ignited by Rear Admiral Bennett's news release, fanned by the shadow minister's interview, then accelerated by word of mouth.

To be fair, some of the station's residents weren't bothered by Julian's genetic background. He wasn't surprised that the Bajorans and other species furthest removed from the Federation's influence were most forgiving. Nor was he surprised that humans were the harshest in their judgements of him. It was, after all, human history that had made villains of the genetically enhanced.

Julian couldn't help but be aware of the whispers and stares, the mouthed insults, the curiosity, and cancelled appointments. He was jostled on the promenade, and the lack of apologies afterwards made it clear that the jostling had not been accidental.

-=o=-

Julian and Miles were playing darts again. Julian wished that he'd suggested they go blasting jerries in the holosuite instead. At least they would have had privacy there. But Miles had suggested darts, and Julian had agreed.

Three games in, they'd drawn a crowd, and Julian was feeling uncomfortable. He could feel the stares and hear the comments, and it was affecting his game.

"If he can't play like a normal human, he shouldn't play at all."

"What are you talking about? He's playing worse than a normal human!"

"Playing like that, you'd never believe he was a Nip. Are you sure that it wasn't just his intelligence that was enhanced?"

Julian's dart went wide, lodging itself in the no score area of the board, between the numbers one and eighteen. It was just the latest in a long series of poor shots.

Miles's patience gave out. "You promised me, you wouldn't let me win!"

"I'm not _letting_ you win!" said Julian. "I'm just...distracted."

"By what?"

Julian shook his head.

Miles looked around, reached his own conclusions, and said, "Let 'em stare!"

"I'm sorry, Miles," said Julian. "I'm not in the mood tonight. If you'll excuse me..."

He didn't wait for Miles's reply. He gathered up his darts, abandoned his half-drunk beer and, head bowed, he strode out of the bar.

-=o=-

The door chime sounded. "Julian? Julian! Let me in! I know you're in there!"

Wearily, Julian ordered the computer to release the door. "Miles..." he said, as his friend rushed into his quarters. He half rose from his armchair, then flopped back down again.

Uninvited, Miles sat down on the couch. "Are you all right?"

"Of course," said Julian. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because you left the bar like a scalded cat, and because Quark told me what they'd been saying."

"He heard," said Julian, feeling embarrassed.

"Of course he heard. With ears like those, how could he not?"

Julian nodded. "Of course. His hearing's a heck of a lot better than mine, and _I_ could hear everything they were saying."

"I'm sorry, I didn't realise."

Julian shrugged as though it didn't matter.

"Do you think they knew you could hear them?"

"I don't know," said Julian. "What difference does it make?"

"I dunno. It just seems a bit more malicious, if they wanted you to hear."

"Either way, it was what they were thinking."

"You can't let people get to you."

"Can't I? It's not just them. I had three patients today who demanded a different doctor. And I hear the whispers, even the ones I'm sure I'm not supposed to."

"What kind of whispers?" asked Miles.

"Sometimes it's names. Sometimes it's speculation. You know, what was I like before? What was enhanced? What wasn't? Some of it is...very personal."

"Oh."

"It's not like many people know anything."

"Are you saying that some of them do?"

Julian took a deep breath. "I slept with Belen Amoruso after I got back from the internment camp. She's the navigator on the Nunavut. Jadzia set us up. It was just a one-night thing. But she...I heard her..."

From the expression on Miles's face, Julian knew that he didn't need to finish the sentence.

"She kissed and told," Miles suggested sympathetically.

Julian nodded. "Yes. And she..." His voice dropped. "I heard her say that it was obvious some things hadn't been enhanced."

"Cow!"

"I get that she's angry with me. She slept with a freak—"

"Julian! Will you stop calling yourself—"

"Her word, not mine. She said that I tricked her." That wasn't all she'd said, but Julian couldn't bring himself to tell Miles the rest. He couldn't bear to say that he'd heard her tell her friends that she wouldn't have touched him had she known what he really was, and that, having let him touch her, she'd never feel clean again.

"You didn't trick her!" snapped Miles.

"No. But I didn't tell her, either."

"Have you ever told anyone you've taken to bed about yourself?"

"No. Of course not!"

"Not even your ballerina?"

"Palis? No. Not even her."

"Well, then," said Miles, as if that settled the argument. Then he changed the topic so abruptly that he startled Julian. "Hey, I've got a pretty decent Speyside malt in my quarters. Want to get drunk?"

Julian couldn't help himself. He laughed. He knew that it wouldn't help anything in the long run but, right then, getting drunk sounded like a marvellous idea.

-=o=-

Julian didn't report the first assault. He simply retreated to the infirmary, pulled out a med kit, and quickly sealed the abrasions, regenerated his skin and healed his bruises.

Strictly speaking, he didn't report the second assault, either. Odo, on a routine patrol, stumbled across the attack while it was in progress. After a few hours in the brig, Odo encouraged the assailants, who were from a visiting freighter, to leave the station and not to hurry back. That time, Julian had to ask Jabara to help him with the dermal regenerator and to countersign a prescription for painkillers.

Julian didn't know what to do to make things better, so he did what he'd always done when faced with difficult situations: he coped.

He put a brave face on things and did his best to carry on as normal. He worked through his shifts, had occasional lunches with Garak, went to the holosuite with Miles, and sometimes he even played darts. But he also spent an increasing amount of time alone in his quarters, where he could take shelter from the maelstrom that his life had become.

-=o=-

"What are we doing here?" asked Sisko. Grumpily, he folded his arms across his chest and crossed his ankles as he lounged in one of the chairs on the upper level of Quark's bar.

"I want you to watch," said Jadzia.

"I don't have time for this," Sisko said.

"Make time."

Sisko huffed, but he settled more firmly into his seat and asked, "What am I supposed to be watching for?"

"Just tell me what you see."

Reluctantly, Sisko decided to humour her. He shifted position so that he could take a better look over the balcony and said, "The bar is full. There's quite a crowd around the Dabo tables. There are more Starfleet personnel in than usual, presumably because the Nimrod is in dock. Lots of people are having a good time. Quark'll be pleased. His profits'll be up."

Jadzia nodded. "Now tell me what you don't see."

Sisko frowned. "I don't follow."

"Let me give you a clue. Tell me _who_ you don't see."

He thought for a few seconds, unsure what she was after. Then, doubtfully, he said, "O'Brien and Bashir aren't playing darts."

"Exactly!"

Sisko looked around some more and said, "O'Brien's at the bar with... I don't know who he's with."

"That's the Chief Engineer from the Nimrod."

"Chief Engineer?" exclaimed Sisko, astounded. "You're not serious! He doesn't look much older than Jake!"

"I'm serious. His name's Yilmaz. I've heard he's amazing, almost as good as the legendary Montgomery Scott."

Sisko almost whistled. "_That_ good, eh?"

"Yes." Then, after a beat, Jadzia said, "So...?"

"So, what?"

"So, who's missing?"

Sisko pulled his mind back onto the original path of the conversation and tentatively said, "Bashir?"

"Yes!"

"Maybe he was held up in the infirmary," suggested Sisko.

"If he was, it's because he held himself up."

"What do you mean?"

"It took me a while to notice; he's been subtle about it. But Julian has taken to avoiding the bar whenever there are a lot of other humans around. If he does come in, he won't stay for long, and he certainly won't play darts."

"What are you saying?"

Jadzia sighed. "Ben...by now, everyone on the station knows who—what—Julian is. And, some—even a lot—of the people here have taken the revelation pretty well. To most of the species here, Julian is just as human as the rest of you." Then, with a faint smile, she added, "Of course, with the Klingons, it helps that Martok likes him."

"And you're saying, it's not the same with other humans?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying. Julian's had a number of...encounters...that have made him feel uncomfortable around them, and he doesn't like drawing attention to himself."

Sisko's eyes narrowed. "What kind of encounters?"

"Verbal, mostly. But a couple have been physical. Odo could give you details."

"Why haven't I been notified of this?"

"Because Julian didn't want to make a fuss. Besides, it was in the weekly station reports that Odo goes through with Kira," said Jadzia.

"Kira hasn't mentioned anything to me."

"No. But she has talked to me. She still can't understand why anyone thinks that Julian being enhanced is such a big deal."

They sat in silence while Sisko pondered on what he had just heard and what he should do about it. Before he reached any definite conclusions, however, his comm badge chirruped. He tapped it. "Sisko here."

"Captain," said Odo's voice. "There has been an incident on the habitat ring. I think you should come." He gave directions.

"I'm on my way."

Sisko got up, vaguely aware that Jadzia was following him. He made his way to the nearest turbolift, wondering what kind of incident had taken place. Had Julian been attacked again? But Odo hadn't sounded hurried. Then again, sometimes with Odo it was hard to tell.

Sisko was still wondering when he arrived at his destination.

A cluster of Starfleet and Bajoran personnel, including Odo and Kira, had gathered around a door.

The crowd parted, letting Sisko see the crudely executed graffiti for the first time: one word, written in Federation Standard, daubed over and over again on the door and walls in lime green paint.

Nip.

Jadzia said, "These are Julian's old quarters."

Odo nodded. "He moved out soon after he came back from the Gamma Quadrant. I would guess that the person, or persons, who did this didn't know that."

Sisko sighed. He looked at Odo and asked, "Do you have any idea who's responsible?"

"Not yet," said Odo. "But I intend to find out."

-=o=-

Julian answered his door, dressed in pyjamas, tousle-haired and barefoot. Although he was obviously surprised to see Sisko, Odo, Kira and Jadzia, he didn't comment as he stood off to one side to let them enter his quarters. Underneath his surprise he looked tired and tense, and Sisko wondered how much of his weariness stemmed from having had his sleep interrupted and how much from recent events, more generally.

"There's been an incident," started Sisko.

"What kind of incident?" asked Julian.

"Vandalism," said Odo. "Graffiti, to be precise."

Julian's mouth opened in shock. "The infirmary? Is everything all right?"

"Not the infirmary," said Sisko. He noticed that Julian relaxed visibly at the news that his precious facility hadn't been touched.

"It's the entrance to your old quarters," said Odo. "Someone has painted the word 'Nip' over the door and on the walls of the corridor."

"Oh," said Julian flatly. He groped his way to a chair and sat down heavily.

"It seems clear that the attack was directed at you," continued Odo.

Julian nodded, a gesture weakened by his shock.

"We were wondering," said Kira, "who knew where your old quarters were but mightn't have known that you'd moved."

Julian thought for a moment. "I can think of a few people, but..." He looked at Odo and said, "Can you give me a list of everyone who is currently on the station?"

"Of course, Doctor."

"All right. I'll take a look and see if any of the names mean anything to me."

"May I access your terminal?" Odo asked.

"Help yourself."

While Odo busied himself with calling up the appropriate records, Sisko, Jadzia and Kira sat down.

Into the silence, Kira asked, "What is a Nip, anyway?"

There was a long pause while everyone waited for someone else to take the initiative and answer her. Finally, Sisko said, "It's human slang. Nip, Tweak and Iq all refer to some kind of genetic engineering. A Nip is someone who has been changed both mentally and physically. It's short for manipulation or manipulated. Something like that. An Iq is someone whose IQ has been Augmented and a Tweak is someone whose physical attributes have been altered."

"And...these are offensive words?" asked Kira.

"Not really," answered Sisko. "They're commonly used in a popular childhood game."

"In a game?" said Kira incredulously. "Why are you all in such a tizzy about a game?"

Julian looked out of the window.

"It's not the word itself," said Sisko, "so much as the sentiment behind it. In the game, the Nips, Tweaks and Iqs are the bad guys, and it's down to the good guys—the normal humans—to catch them."

"So... It's a bit like playing Bajorans and Cardassians?" asked Kira.

"I... Maybe," said Sisko, unsure.

"So, calling Dr Bashir a Nip...?" asked Odo, looking up briefly from the computer screen.

Julian turned back from the window and said softly, "I don't think it was meant as a compliment. When I was at school, the other children used to call me names: Nip or Iq. They meant it as an insult and I hated it. Then, when I was fifteen, I found out...it was true."

Nobody seemed to know what to say to that, so they said nothing. The silence hung heavily in the air, and Sisko was sure that he wasn't the only one to feel relief when Odo said, "Here's the list, Doctor."

Julian stood up and walked over to the computer console.

Odo got out of the way so that Julian could sit down. However, Julian didn't bother. Instead, he leaned over and let the computer screen scroll faster than Sisko's eyes could follow. Sisko felt his eyebrows rise. Julian could read that fast? Had he always read that quickly? If so, how come nobody had noticed?

Seconds later, Julian said, "There are only a couple of names: Leeta and Belen Amoruso. I doubt it was Leeta."

"So, Belen Amoruso, then," said Odo.

Julian straightened up. "I suspect so. She...didn't react well, when she found out I was...you know. She's...said things."

"Oh, Julian. I'm sorry," said Jadzia. She looked stricken. Sisko wondered why.

"It's not your fault," said Julian.

"Well," said Odo. "Thank you for your help. I'll get right on it."

"We're sorry to have disturbed you, Doctor." Sisko stood, and the others followed suit.

Julian blinked and tilted his head in a vague gesture of acknowledgement, but he didn't say anything.

One by one, the visitors said goodbye and filed out of Julian's quarters. Just before the door closed, Sisko glanced backwards. His last glimpse of Julian was of him standing in the middle of the living room.

Odo and Kira went one way, while Sisko and Jadzia fell into step the other. "I can see why you're worried about him, Old Man." Sisko glanced sideways at Jadzia and asked, "What did he mean? What's not your fault?"

Jadzia sighed. "I introduced Amoruso to Julian just after he came back from the Gamma Quadrant. I thought a bit of female company might cheer him up."

"Ah. Well, don't take it to heart. Bashir's tougher than he looks. He'll be all right."

"You think so?" she asked, sounding sceptical.

"I hope so." They walked on a little way, then Sisko said, "I've got to put a stop to all this nonsense!"

"How?"

"Make an example out of Amoruso, if it turns out that she was the guilty party. Get the word out that we'll come down heavily on anyone who attacks Dr Bashir in the future..."

"I'm not sure it'll be as easy as that," said Jadzia.

"Oh?"

"There's been an...atmosphere...about the station, ever since the Shiva Ghazi interview. The trouble is, what Ghazi said about the war made sense and, by extension, that made what he said about Julian sound reasonable, too. Most people don't know Julian like we do, and Ghazi stirred up a lot of anti-Augment feeling." Jadzia paused, then she said, "Even Worf sympathises with Ghazi's views, and he's worked with Julian for a while now."

"Are you saying, I won't be able to stop the attacks?"

"I'm saying that it might be difficult."

"I'll find a way, somehow."

Jadzia nodded. "Meanwhile, I think I'll get Chief O'Brien to check in with him."

"Good idea."

-=o=-

Julian wanted to sit down. He wanted to pace. He felt all churned up inside and cold and clammy out. He felt sick. He didn't know what to do with himself, so he ended up doing nothing. He stood in the centre of his living area, feeling lost, alone, and numbly hurt.

He was still standing there when the door chime sounded again, this time accompanied by a familiar voice. "Julian? It's Miles! Open up!"

Julian sighed and gave the command to release the doors.

Miles ran over to his side before the doors had fully opened. "Julian?" Slightly out of breath from having run through the corridors, Miles put a hand on Julian's arm, peered into his face, and said, "I heard."

Julian could smell beer on his breath, and he deduced that Miles had been in Quark's. If Miles knew what had happened, did that mean that everyone else in the bar did too?

"Are you okay?"

Julian nodded, but he knew that O'Brien recognised the lie for what it was. He could see it in the creases around Miles's eyes and the tightness of his lips, and he guessed that Miles was remembering a conversation they'd shared several years before, during the months after Keiko had left for Bajor, when Miles was tolerating Julian's company, but before they had become friends.

They'd been heading back to their quarters after yet another game of racquetball...

-=o=-

_"Nip!"_

_"Nip!"_

_"Nip!"_

_Voices yet to break filled the corridor of the habitat ring, closely followed by several sets of running footsteps. _

_A young boy—maybe about eleven or twelve—pounded around the corner. He wasted precious seconds to glance over his shoulder before he took off again. He had only just passed out of sight when his pursuers came into view._

_O'Brien chuckled. "That brings back memories!"_

_Julian shook his head and said, "I hated that game when I was growing up."_

_"Oh?"_

_"I was always the Nip. Or an Iq."_

_O'Brien laughed. "Now, why doesn't that surprise me?"_

_"And what's that supposed to mean?" snapped Julian._

_"Well, it's just that... Oh, come on, Julian. You can't tell me that you weren't always top of your class!"_

_Julian felt a flicker of something bitter cross his face, then he said, "Are you telling me that it's any more acceptable to pick on a child for being smart than it is to pick on a child for being slow?" He didn't wait for an answer. Instead he strode off, hitting the air with his racquet._

_"Hey! Wait up! I didn't mean it like that!"_

_Julian stopped and turned abruptly. "No? Because the kids at school did."_

_Julian's fierce anger took O'Brien by surprise._

_"Julian... I'm sorry. Was it really that bad for you, growing up?"_

_"You've no idea," said Julian. Then he turned around and started striding along the corridor again. O'Brien had to scuttle to catch up._

_When next Julian spoke, he changed the subject and behaved as though the conversation had never happened._

-=o=-

They'd never spoken of the incident again, and Julian had sometimes wondered whether O'Brien even remembered it. But, with hindsight, Julian could see that the conversation had marked a sea change in the way O'Brien had treated him. Before, he'd seen Julian as little more than a diversion, a way to kill time between Keiko's visits. Afterwards, O'Brien had started showing a little more interest in Julian as a person, and he'd begun see the man behind the nuisance.

"Come on. Sit down," said O'Brien, and he guided Julian to the couch. Then, without asking what Julian wanted, he walked over to the replicator and ordered a Tarkalean tea, extra sweet. "For the shock," he said, as he handed the mug over.

"Thanks." Julian blew across the top of the hot liquid and took a sip. Julian wished that Miles would stop looking at him and he wished Miles didn't look so worried.

Finally, Miles said, "I don't know what to say, other than that I wish I could make things better."

"You do make things better," said Julian. "You're here, aren't you?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Belen Amoruso admitted that she and her cronies had been responsible for the vandalism, claiming it had just been a bit of harmless fun and marvelling that Julian couldn't take a joke. Sisko and Odo pointed out that they were the ones who didn't get the joke, and they were the ones banishing her from Deep Space Nine. Then Sisko made a stationwide announcement: anyone found harassing the doctor—or anyone else, for that matter—would be similarly punished.

A week passed. Then a second. Then a third.

Julian's life settled down into a new kind of normal. There were no more attacks, and no new graffiti appeared. To most people, Sisko's edicts appeared to have had the desired effect. However, Julian knew better. The whispers and the stares, the insults and the avoidance continued, and Julian found them wearing. He decided that the best way to cope was to stay busy and to keep to himself as much as possible.

-=o=-

Julian was in the infirmary, catching up on paperwork, when the computer interrupted him to inform him that a high-priority subspace communiqué had just arrived. The computer chimed and said, "Retinal scan required to identify recipient."

The formality of the message warned Julian that, whatever the communiqué was about, he wasn't going to like it. His mind leapt through various possibilities, and settled on the most probable even before the computer said, "Retinal scan complete. Verified: Julian Subatoi Bashir, MD. Lieutenant. Chief Medical Officer, Deep Space Nine. Message from United Federation of Planets Medical Standards Board. Notice of disciplinary proceedings..."

Julian's heart sank.

Just when he'd begun to hope that the Medical Standards Board wasn't going to pursue him, his worst fears were being realised. He felt light-headed and his hands began to shake.

_Concentrate,_ he told himself. _You can control yourself._

He summoned up his willpower and determinedly forced his body to obey his brain. Then, when he was sure he had brought himself under control, he read the message.

He was being summoned to attend a disciplinary tribunal, accused of bringing the medical profession into disrepute.

Julian put his head into his hands and groaned.

The tribunal would be a mere formality, because how could he defend himself against the truth? He had cheated. He had lied. He had practiced medicine illegally. A doctor didn't get much more disreputable than that.

Besides, there was another factor counting against him. Monsieur Pierre Delon chaired the board.

His mind carried him back in time, to a Sunday dinner with his girlfriend's family in Paris. Her father had enquired how his studies were going, and Julian had found himself confessing his fears over an assignment he had to complete for his Medical Law and Ethics class, an assignment that required he argue the case for genetic enhancements.

_-=o=-_

_"Are they still teaching that?" Monsieur Delon threw back his head and laughed. "It's the law students' equivalent of the Kobayashi Maru! The perfect no win scenario!"_

_"Are you saying that I can't win?"_

_"Of course you can't! And, why would you want to?"_

_"Because...because I need to pass the course."_

_"You don't need to win the debate to pass the course. You just need to put on a reasonable show."_

_"Professor Hessayon told me that I have to put one hundred and ten per cent effort into my argument."_

_Delon laughed condescendingly. He put his hand on Julian's shoulder in an avuncular manner and said, "But he doesn't expect you to win! In fact, the better your arguments, the more convincing the defeat. And you _do_ want to be defeated, don't you?"_

_Julian's forehead puckered. "But I like to win."_

_"At racquetball, yes. But this isn't a game. Think what it would mean if you actually did win the debate! Chaos! Social upheaval! The end of civilisation as we know it!"_

_Julian stared at Delon. Delon must have seen something in Julian's expression, because he sobered and said, "Humankind has believed for centuries that genetic engineering for any reason other than correcting serious birth defects is wrong. Even then, the practice skirts on the edges of what we consider acceptable. That belief is one of the fundamental tenets of Federation society. Genetic engineering and genetic enhancement are wrong. End of story. Society needs to protect that belief at all costs. Fight. Fight well. But you'll lose anyway. However, the better the arguments you present, the more they'll contribute to the preservation of the _status quo_."_

_"And if I win?"_

_"Haven't you been listening? You can't win! Even if you could, you wouldn't be allowed to. And, as I say, why would you want to? Genetic enhancement is wrong. It doesn't work, and the only thing that you can do with the Augmented is to lock them away to keep the rest of us safe."_

-=o=-

He was genetically enhanced.

He wouldn't be allowed to win. Monsieur Delon, the chair of the board would see to that.

He might as well give up now. If nothing else, giving up would save him the bother of having to travel to Earth.

But... If he had no medical licence, then there was no reason for him to stay on Deep Space Nine. He'd have no purpose here, no role.

What would Starfleet do with him then?

What would he do with himself?

A quarter of an hour later, a friendlier, but no less official, message arrived, this time from Starfleet Medical.

It took Julian another half hour to summon up the courage to do what he needed to do next.

He copied the messages onto a PADD and headed to Ops.

-=o=-

Sisko turned, just in time to see Julian step off the turbolift. Julian headed towards him, then said quietly, "Captain? May I have a word?"

Julian was looking tense again. Sisko was tired of seeing him wearing that particular expression. He wondered what had caused it this time, and guessed it probably had something to do with the PADD Julian was gripping in a white-knuckled hand. He nodded. "Come with me."

Sisko led the way up the steps to the former Prefect's office, where he moved behind his desk and gestured to Julian to pull up a chair. Julian declined the offer and remained standing.

When Sisko was seated, he said, "What is it, Doctor?"

"I need to request a leave of absence. I've been summoned back to Earth."

"Oh?" said Sisko.

Julian took a deep breath and said, "I've heard from the Medical Standards Board." He held out the PADD. "It might be easier if you read the communiqué for yourself, sir."

Sisko took the PADD and read. Then he sighed and turned sympathetic eyes towards Julian. "So, you were right. The Board isn't going to accept Starfleet's ruling."

"Apparently not."

"Still, it's a hopeful sign that they want to have you appear at the tribunal in person. The Board hasn't struck you off _in absentia_."

"Perhaps," said Julian, sounding doubtful. "Starfleet Medical has also requested that I submit myself to a full medical appraisal and to psych testing while I'm on Earth."

Sisko raised his eyebrows. "Counsellor Telnorri's profile wasn't good enough for them? Even supplemented by Dr Zimmerman's interviews?"

Julian ducked his head and looked embarrassed. "Starfleet Medical has discounted Zimmerman's interviews on the grounds that I've been manipulating everyone's opinion for years and that the interviews do not provide an accurate reflection of my personality. Starfleet Medical says that, on its own, Counsellor Telnorri's report is inadequate. They want corroboration of my fitness to serve in Starfleet."

"Despite the fact that you, like all candidates, were profiled before admission to the academy? And again before graduation?"

"Captain..." Julian avoided Sisko's gaze as he said, "According to the law, genetically enhanced persons are supposed to be psych tested at least once a year. Starfleet Medical's request is neither unreasonable nor surprising, under the circumstances. Plus, I think they want to find out how I managed to join Starfleet undetected in the first place."

"When do you need to go?" Sisko asked.

"I can hitch a lift on the Nimrod. She leaves in thirty-six hours."

"Very well, Doctor. I trust you'll make the necessary arrangements for cover while you're away."

"Yes, sir."

"And, Doctor..."

"Sir?"

"I hope you won't need it, but good luck."

Julian nodded, and the faintest hint of a smile graced his lips as he said, "Thank you."

-=o=-

Thirty-six hours. That was all the time he had, and he had so much to do.

Thirty-six hours to make sure that the infirmary was left ready for someone else to take over, to pack, to say his goodbyes...

But there was something he had to do before any of that, something he'd been meaning to do for a while, something he needed to do, no matter how embarrassing.

He drew himself up to his full height, took a deep breath, and rang Leeta's doorbell.

After a second ring and quite a long wait, she answered. "Julian!" she said, surprised.

"Hello, Leeta."

"What are you doing here?"

"I...Iwantkukalakaback." The syllables flew from his mouth in an incoherent flood of sound.

"Pardon?"

"I said, 'I want Kukalaka back'." Then, after a beat, he added, "Please."

Leeta opened her mouth. "But—" The rest of her protest died on her lips, and Julian wondered just how desperate he looked for her to abandon her objection. "All right," she said. "Wait there."

Julian stood between the door sensors, holding the doors open, while Leeta vanished into her bedroom.

Seconds later, she came back, the bear wrapped in her arms.

She gave the toy a final squeeze before she returned it to its rightful owner. She looked at Julian. "I'm going to miss him." Then she fluttered her fingers at the bear, now safely ensconced in the crook of Julian's arm, and said, "Goodbye, little fellow!"

"Goodbye, Leeta," said Julian, waving Kukalaka's paw. He could have been speaking on Kukalaka's behalf, but he knew that he was not.

-=o=-

Julian moved around his quarters, gathering up his various possessions, sorting them into three piles: must take on one chair; might take on the couch; won't take on the other chair. From time to time, he glanced at Kukalaka, who was at the top of his "must take" list. He even managed to almost smile once or twice as he looked at the bear, now safely back in his possession.

Each time he looked away, however, the smile slid off his face. His thoughts swung between worrying about the trials that lay ahead and memories of his student days, particularly the struggles he'd faced in his Medical Law and Ethics course.

-=o=-

_Professor Hessayon pursed his lips and considered the student in front of him. "Cadet Bashir, if you want to pass this course, you need to stop thinking like a medical student and start thinking like a lawyer."_

_"What do you mean?"_

_"It means, you need to think less about facts, analysis and problem solving and more about how to win friends and influence people."_

_"I don't understand."_

_Hessayon sighed impatiently. "And they told me you were bright." He huffed, then said, "Medicine is about logic, learning and problem solving. But the law isn't like that. It's not enough for you to know the law. You have to understand how to present an argument. You know the letter of the law, but I don't think you understand its spirit. You see the law as something immutable, unchanging. But, in reality, it's something to question and to challenge, because every challenge it faces makes the law that much stronger."_

_"But how am I supposed to argue in favour of something that I know to be wrong?" asked Julian._

_"Why is it wrong? Because the law says so? Then change the law. You have to find justifications to do just that, and you have to present your arguments in such a way that you will bring people around to your way of thinking."_

_"Even though I don't believe what I'm saying, myself?"_

_"_Now_ you're thinking like a lawyer!"_

_"So...in this debate, I have to act as a champion for the genetically enhanced?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Speak out for them, even though enhancement is illegal?"_

_"Yes! And, Cadet...?"_

_"Sir?"_

_"I'll be watching you. If I think, for one moment, you are doing anything less than your best, that'll be reflected in your final grade."_

-=o=-

Julian hadn't won the debate, but he'd still been allowed to pass the course, and he had become a doctor. This time, though, he would have to win his case, if he wanted to practice medicine...

Julian was yanked out of his memories by the door chime and Miles's voice asking to be let in. He sighed. He wanted to see Miles. He was grateful for the chance to say a proper goodbye, and yet, at the same time, he would rather be left alone.

He ordered the door to open, and Miles stepped into the living room.

Miles glanced around, then said, "What are you doing?"

"Packing."

"I can see that. But, why?"

"I've been summoned back to Earth."

"Yeah, I know that. But I thought that was just a temporary thing. This looks like forever packing."

Julian put aside the stack of PADDs he'd been sorting through and straightened. He turned and looked at Miles.

Miles stared at him, his eyes widening as realisation hit. "You don't think you're coming back."

"I think...the odds are against it. If the tribunal doesn't find in my favour, then I won't have anything to come back to."

"Do you really think you'll be struck off the register?"

Julian nodded.

Miles looked appalled. "Can't you—I don't know—plead extenuating circumstances, or something?"

"Like what? Miles, I knew what I was doing." Julian turned away and looked out of the window, into the infinity of space. "I wanted to be a doctor. But I always knew that I shouldn't be. I became a doctor partly because I wanted it, and partly because—" Julian broke off abruptly, suddenly reluctant to continue his confession.

"Go on," said Miles gently.

"Medicine and Starfleet offered me a way to get off Earth and away from my parents. I know it was wrong."

"You don't believe you deserve to keep your licence?" asked Miles. He picked up Julian's "won't take" pile, put it on the floor, and sat down.

Julian shook his head. "I want to keep it. Believe me, I want to. But...no. I don't think I deserve it. I'm..." He shook his head and lapsed into silence.

"Isn't there a lesser punishment? Mightn't they just rap your knuckles, tell you that you've been a naughty boy, and let you go?"

"There are different degrees of punishment, yes, but I'm not optimistic."

Miles considered Julian for a few seconds, then he said, "You will fight, won't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Just..." Miles took a deep breath, then continued. "That first night, when you told me about the enhancements, you said we couldn't fight. You just wanted to walk away."

Julian nodded, remembering.

"Please tell me that you won't just give up."

Now it was Julian's turn to consider O'Brien. He was touched by how much this seemed to matter to his friend. "All right," said Julian quietly, "I won't."

Miles's relief was palpable, and he smiled. "So, you can stop packing. Just leave everything so that it's ready for when you come back. Have a little faith."

Faith. What Julian would have given to have faith!

He sighed. "Miles... Even if I do keep my licence, I don't know if I'll come back."

"What!" Miles exploded. "Why not! You have to come back! This is your home!"

"Is it?" Julian asked. "It doesn't feel like home. Not any more."

"But...but...I thought..."

"You thought, what?"

"I thought things had calmed down; that things had been okay, since the captain laid down the law."

Julian shook his head sadly. "The edicts helped, but they only cured the worst of the symptoms. The underlying feelings, they're still there. Only now people also feel resentful about the captain's interference, and they blame me for that, too."

"People are still giving you a hard time?"

"Not as much as before, but... People are still avoiding me and talking and..." Julian found himself looking at Kukalaka, as if the bear could give him strength. "I'm not sure I want to come back here."

"Where else would you go?"

Julian didn't answer. How could he, when he didn't know?

Miles followed Julian's gaze with his own. "Who's that?" he asked, pointing at the bear. He suddenly sounded far too amused for Julian's taste.

"Kukalaka," muttered Julian.

"What?"

"His name is Kukalaka."

Miles grinned at him. "Kukalaka, huh?"

"What? You don't have any souvenirs from your childhood?"

"Yeah, back in my parents' house, in Dublin! But not here. The only toys we have here belong to Molly and Yoshi!"

Julian felt his face warm.

"I'm sorry," said Miles. "I just... I wouldn't have expected you, of all people, to have a teddy bear!"

"Why not me, 'of all people'?" asked Julian. What did Miles mean by "of all people", anyway? Was it a dig at his not-so-natural origins? Or was he just being overly sensitive?

"Well... You just never struck me as the kind of person who..."

"Who, what?"

"Would want to snuggle up with a teddy bear, all right?"

"I'll have you know that there has been research done that suggests at least a third of adults from the British Isles sleep with their teddy bears."

"You're kidding."

"No."

"So, this is you—what—taking pride in your cultural heritage?"

"No," said Julian curtly.

"What now? All I asked was—"

"I know what you asked. But I don't really have a cultural heritage, do I?"

"Because you're...?"

"Yes. If I ever had one, it was taken away from me when I was...changed."

"You really believe that?" The way Miles said it suggested that he found the idea surprising. Julian couldn't fathom why. To him, it was obvious, and he didn't bother replying.

Miles got up and paced, then he sat down again. "If you left... Would anywhere else be any better?"

"I don't know."

Miles tried again. "You've got friends here."

"Yes..."

"I'll tell you what. Pack everything up if you must, but leave it here. If you don't want to come back, I'll send it on to you. Just...don't decide now. Keep your options open."

"All right," said Julian, knowing that he was agreeing only to please Miles.

"What's the story with the bear, anyway?"

"No real story, other than that Kukalaka is one of the few things I remember from...before. He was with me in the hospital in Adigeon Prime, he protected me from the monsters under my bed, and he's been with me ever since. He..." Julian wasn't sure that Miles would understand, but he tried to explain anyway. "He's been a constant in my life. More than that, he's been a comfort."

"And you've had precious few of those, I'll bet."

Julian nodded. "He's also a reminder that...at least at one time...I wasn't what I am now."

"Which is?"

Julian shrugged. "You know. Not quite...human."

"Julian, you do know that you'll always be human to me, don't you?"

Julian's lips tightened, but he managed to say, "Thank you, Miles. That means a lot."

Right at that moment, it meant everything.

-=o=-

Julian spent most of the trip to Earth in his quarters, leaving only to get food from the Nimrod's mess. He chose his meal times carefully, so as to meet as few people as possible. As a result, the journey passed slowly and dully. However, it was uneventful, and Julian was relieved to reach Earth without incident.

He had arranged to stay in the officers' barracks on the San Francisco campus. His room was south facing, light and airy, and high up enough to afford him a better than average view. He couldn't see the Golden Gate Bridge—that view was probably reserved for visiting dignitaries—but his room overlooked some attractive parkland and gardens.

Seeing the landscaping made him think of his father, and he promised himself that he would get in touch with the New Zealand facility to arrange a visit. He supposed he ought to contact his mother, too.

Perhaps he would, when he felt a little more...resilient.

-=o=-

On his first morning on Earth, Julian made his way across the campus to Starfleet Medical. He passed through the building's entrance, crossed the sparsely furnished atrium, and presented himself to the cadet who was acting as a receptionist. "Hello. I'm Dr Bashir. I believe I'm expected?"

The cadet's eyes widened with recognition. Was her expression surprise, shock, horror or awe? Julian wasn't sure, and he didn't think he wanted to know.

Julian pretended not to watch as the cadet pulled herself together and put through a call to announce his arrival. He could only hear the cadet's side of the conversation, the other being fed to her through an earpiece to ensure the absent speaker's privacy.

Once upon a time, Julian had had free rein of this building. Apparently those days were gone, because the cadet instructed him to take a seat in a waiting area and informed him that someone would be down to collect him shortly.

Julian thanked the cadet politely. Then he did as he'd been told; he sat down and waited. Then he waited some more. He wondered what was causing the delay. Was there some kind of emergency elsewhere? Was it someone's idea of playing mind games? Was making him wait designed to make him feel uncomfortable?

If that was the intention, it was working. As a cadet, he'd come to love this place, and he'd felt comfortable here. Now it felt different, threatening in a way he couldn't quite define.

Two people dressed in the uniforms of medical staff, one wearing the rank pins of a lieutenant commander and the other of a full commander, came out. Julian moved to stand up to greet them.

They walked past him. So, not them, then.

An ensign went into the building. Three cadets left. The atrium echoed with their footsteps.

Finally—and Julian knew, down to the minute, just how long he'd been waiting—a lieutenant dressed in the mustard uniform of security and carrying a phaser on his hip, approached him. "Julian Bashir?"

"Yes."

"Follow me."

Julian did as he was told, and allowed himself to be led to a turbolift. The lieutenant commanded the 'lift to take them to the twelfth floor. Then he stood at parade rest, his eyes staring straight ahead as the 'lift began to move. Julian tried to engage him in conversation, but he didn't respond. Only when the turbolift doors opened again did the lieutenant say something more, and that was only, "After you."

Julian stepped out of the 'lift and took a couple of seconds to look around. He remembered the twelfth floor of old. When he'd been a student, much of the teaching of first and second years had taken place on the tenth to twelfth floors. He'd spent long, happy hours in the holosuites, working up histories and practicing techniques on holograms, and in the laboratories, hunched over microscopes and staring at computer screens.

He wondered where all the students were now, then he realised that they were in the summer recess. Most of the cadets would be on vacation, away doing electives in exotic locales, or learning the other skills required of any military officer. He, himself, had spent one summer taking engineering courses and another on manoeuvres, learning about weapons and hand-to-hand combat. But the summers he'd enjoyed most had been the ones when he'd spent time with patients and carrying out research. He shook the nostalgic thoughts away.

There were two more security staff in the corridor. Why? Then he realised: with the Changeling threat and the heightened tensions because of the upcoming war, Starfleet had surely tightened its security routines.

The lieutenant showed him into laboratory six-A, then retreated, leaving Julian with five strangers, all dressed in the teal of Starfleet's medical and science branches.

There were two human men, two human women, and a male Bolian. One of the human men seemed to be in charge. Leastways, he held the highest rank of them all—that of a full commander. "Julian Bashir," he said. By way of a greeting, it held all the warmth of an ice cube.

Julian stepped forward and offered his hand. The commander didn't take it, so Julian let his arm fall back against his side, and he forced himself not to feel uncomfortable.

The commander introduced himself and the rest of his team. He was Dr Edmond Tsonga, a tall, thin human, old enough to be Julian's father. He was fair-skinned and freckled, with thinning mousey brown hair that was salted with grey. His pale blue eyes were set close together, above a long, thin nose and an almost lipless mouth.

Dr Iselle Crane was a good foot shorter than Tsonga, but probably weighed about the same. Her eyes twinkled, but not at Julian, her lips were full, and her short brown hair was a bouncy mess of curls.

Lieutenant Commander Ivan Novak was a scientist, not a doctor or nurse. He had fair hair that blended into his pallid skin tones, somehow making him almost featureless. Julian had a flash of precognition. Novak's was the kind of face that would improve with age as it filled out and became more distinguished. For now, though, he looked young and non-descript, almost inconsequential.

Kateryna May and Alendro Breht, the Bolian, were non-commissioned officers. Both were nurses and they were, Julian later discovered, married to each other.

Once the introductions were dispensed with, the group gravitated to a worktable surrounded by chairs. Everyone sat down, and Tsonga pushed a PADD towards Julian. "We've drawn up a schedule for you."

Julian quickly scanned its contents. "That's...quite comprehensive," he said.

"We'd like to be thorough."

Julian glanced at the schedule again. It was more than merely thorough, and he wondered why. Were they driven by curiosity or fear, or a mixture of both? He couldn't bring himself to ask. Instead, he said, "We'll need to reschedule the session next Thursday morning. I have a prior engagement."

"Can't you change it?" Tsonga sounded impatient.

"No," said Julian. "I have to meet with my mediator about the disciplinary tribunal."

"Ah. Of course. Then, yes, I suppose we can reschedule."

"Thank you."

The conversation moved on to the details of the tests Starfleet had in mind for him, and Julian realised that, while he was being kept in the loop, he was going to have no say in how the tests would be conducted. He wasn't a colleague; he was a test subject.

"It's very difficult to find ways to test the genetically enhanced," Tsonga said. "How can we, when records show that so much of what the Augments can do is off the scale for human norms? Plus, we have so little baseline data to work with. Most of what we know about Augments comes from historical anecdote. I mean, Captain Kirk didn't have much opportunity to monitor Khan and his people: he was too busy fighting them!" There were some sycophantic chuckles around the table. Julian didn't join in. As far as he was concerned, Khan and the Augments could never be a laughing matter. "One approach we'd like to try is to give you things to do that normal humans can't. By seeing how you cope with alien tests, we might get a better idea of the limits of your capabilities. We want to test you against Vulcan norms...Betazoid...Klingon, and so on. Many of them won't apply. But if we don't try, we won't know."

"So you want to test my skills with a Bat'leth?" asked Julian. The facial expressions of the others told him that his attempt at levity had failed miserably.

Novak said, "We want to test all your skills: mental; physical; telepathic. We need to check them all."

Julian snorted. "I'm not a telepath."

"No? Well, we'll test for that anyway, just to make sure," and Julian understood that they weren't going to take his word for anything.

-=o=-

They spent the rest of the morning testing some of Julian's mental abilities, starting out with mathematics problems that Julian found both easy and dull. However, the problems he was presented with became progressively more difficult, and soon he was being asked to solve multi-dimensional geometry problems in his head.

Finally, after more than three hours, Tsonga said, "We're off to lunch," and, for one brief moment, Julian thought that they were inviting him to join them. He began to get up, but Tsonga stalled Julian's movement when he added, "We'll see you back here in an hour."

Julian watched their retreating backs and sighed softly. Then, not having been given any instructions to the contrary, he decided to head for the cafeteria. He ventured into the corridor. The security officers didn't try to stop him, but as he waited for the turbolift, he could hear them reporting to someone that he was on the move.

Did they report everyone's movements, or was it just him? He frowned and tried not to feel uneasy.

The dining facility was pretty much as Julian remembered from his student days, although it had been given a new coat of paint and the cutlery and trays had been replaced.

Julian ordered a chicken salad and iced water from the replicator, picked up his tray, and looked around for somewhere to sit. He spotted a familiar face: Arthur Bratwell. If he and Bratwell hadn't been close friends, back in the day, they had at least been more than friendly acquaintances.

Julian walked over to Bratwell's table and said, "Arthur! It's good to see you! May I join you?"

Arthur looked up. "Bashir," he said coolly. "I heard you were...visiting."

Julian hovered, not sure what to say or do. Arthur hadn't answered his question. Julian moved to put the tray down.

"These seats are taken," said Bratwell.

"All of them?" asked Julian, before he could stop himself.

"I'm waiting for some friends."

"Well... Another time, then."

"Sure."

Julian took a deep breath, then he headed over to a corner table. He people-watched while he ate his lunch. Then he carried his dirty dishes over to the recycler.

As Julian walked out of the cafeteria, he noticed that Bratwell's friends still hadn't arrived.

-=o=-

Julian had expected stares and whispers and conversations cut short whenever he went into a room. He'd even prepared himself for insults and attacks. But, in his wildest dreams, he hadn't imagined protestors with placards.

The protestors had chosen their pitch well, close to Medical, at an intersection where several footpaths crossed. Anyone walking around the Starfleet campus would pass them at some point, or would have to put effort into detouring around them.

That evening, as he left the building, Julian stumbled across the protestors unexpectedly. There were only a half dozen of them, and Julian almost made it past them unnoticed. He probably would have done, had curiosity not got the better of him, and had he not slowed down to see what they were protesting about.

Julian wasn't sure who was most shocked: him to see them, or them to see him.

Their shouts and insults followed him as he escaped towards the barracks, and they rang in his ears and head for a long time afterwards.

By the next morning, the number of demonstrators had swollen to about twenty, and, by the afternoon, someone had organised the shouting into more formalised chanting. By the following day, the crowd had become large enough and loud enough that Julian could hear them from inside Starfleet Medical.

Julian started making long detours to get to and from the barracks.

-=o=-

Days passed, and Julian slipped into a routine. He'd get up, walk via a long and circuitous route to Starfleet Medical for a full morning of testing, go to eat lunch on his own in the cafeteria, spend the afternoon being subjected to further tests, and then meander his way back to his room, where he'd spend the evening in quiet seclusion.

The replicator in Julian's quarters had a limited menu, adequate for his needs, but no more than that. However, given the choice of settling for adequate or having to venture out to a public restaurant, Julian decided that adequate was good enough.

One evening, prompted either by boredom, loneliness or bravery, he sent a formal request to the governor of the New Zealand prison for permission to visit his father. He also wrote a quick note to his mother, saying that he would visit at some point, while he was on Earth. He sent a letter to Miles, assuring him that he'd arrived safely and that everything was fine. Other than that, Julian did his best to fill his evenings by reading books and learned papers, and trying not to dwell too much on anything else.

By contrast to the tedium of his evenings, his days were busy. To his surprise, he found himself almost enjoying some of the tests. He probably would have enjoyed them, under other circumstances. It wasn't often that he found himself quite so challenged.

Since being on Deep Space Nine, he had had—and had made use of—more freedom to work at his own pace than ever before. He'd known that his activities usually went unquestioned, even unnoticed. True, he'd been unnerved when Jadzia, recognising its genius, had put his work forward, and he'd been nominated for the prestigious Carrington Award. But, for the most part, people didn't know enough about his research to question it. Nor did they know how much of it he did in his head, rather than relying on the computer. Even so, Julian had tended to veer on the side of caution, and he had avoided working to his full potential.

Thus, Julian found the tests educational. For the first time in his life, he was finding the limits to his own abilities. He was learning about himself. He was learning exactly how much of a freak he really was.

-=o=-

"This is an Altonian brainteaser. Have you ever seen one before?"

"Yes," said Julian. "A colleague on Deep Space Nine showed one to me."

"And?"

"And it took me a while, but I learned to solve the puzzle."

The medical staff exchanged glances.

"You can solve this," said Novak flatly. He obviously hadn't expected that.

"Would you care to show us?" asked Crane, though Julian knew that it was not a request.

"I'll try," said Julian, "but the puzzle is easier to solve when I'm on my own and can concentrate properly."

"We'll try not to disturb you," said Tsonga wryly.

"Although we'd like to attach some sensors to monitor you while you do it," said Novak.

Reluctantly, Julian said, "Very well." He wished they'd stop this masquerade of give and take; they all knew that he wasn't going to be given any choice in the matter. He wished he could tell them that they were making him feel like a laboratory animal or that he kept expecting them to lock him away and dissect him like a frog. Maybe that would come later.

_Freak._

_Monster._

His mind suddenly flashed to Odo. Was this how Odo had felt in Dr Mora's laboratory? If so, it explained so much about Odo's antipathy towards the Bajoran. Odo had been poked, prodded and monitored in the most invasive ways imaginable, treated as a lesser being...

"Hold still," said Nurse Breht, as he carefully attached several sensors to Julian's temples and forehead.

_Cope._

The others moved away from Julian and settled themselves behind an array of screens. "Whenever you're ready," said Crane.

Julian closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. Finding the equanimity, the focus, he needed to master the puzzle was harder than usual. He had to fight his way through layers of memories and associations, past images of Jadzia and thoughts of home. He forced himself to blot out the skin tingling sensation of being watched.

The chanting of the demonstrators filtered in from outside. None of the others gave any indication that the sound bothered them. Julian wondered whether that was because they couldn't hear it, or whether they just didn't care. He pushed the thoughts away. He needed to make himself be alone, at least inside his head.

_Concentrate..._

_Concentrate..._

When he was satisfied that he was centred, he slowly opened his eyes, making sure that his gaze never wandered from the Altonian sphere. Then he began to stabilise and change its shifting surface.

Julian solidified the sphere's colour into a uniform pink and held it steady for a couple of minutes. Then, because pink didn't match his mood, he turned it to a stormy, leaden grey. Then, because he feared that colour might reveal too much about his current frame of mind, he made the colours shift again, this time to a midnight blue, then on to red.

Finally, satisfied that he'd shown the others more than enough, he closed his eyes again, and let the sphere collapse into nothing.

The room erupted with applause, cheers and excited chatter. "That was amazing!"

"Incredible!"

Julian thought he noted a slight thawing in their reserve.

But they still didn't invite him to join them for lunch.

-=o=-

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **

At the risk of sounding repetitive, thank you for your interest in this story. Thanks for reading, and most particularly thank you to those of you who are following, favouriting and reviewing.

If reading this chapter has left you curious about the British and their bears, you might want to try Googling: _teddy bear British adults_. I make no judgement on the quality of the research, but it seemed far to good to waste!


	7. Chapter 7

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Thank you, as ever, to those of you who are reading, reviewing, favouriting and following. It is very encouraging to know that people are interested in this story, and I appreciate your continued support very much.

-=o=-

**Chapter Seven**

Sisko looked balefully at the message from Starfleet. The last thing he wanted to do was go to Earth, particularly as he recognised that the orders were driven by politics rather than common sense. Shiva Ghazi really had stirred things up with his damned interview!

Little more than a year had passed since Sisko's most recent trip home. Then, he'd briefed the brass on the Changeling threat and, with the help of Odo and Nog, had unearthed a conspiracy. He wasn't sure what he could say now that would be new or that would help Starfleet prepare for the upcoming war, and he baulked at the idea of going home because it felt too much like abandoning his post and command. However, his orders were clear.

The USS Bellerophon would carry Sisko to Earth, allowing the USS Defiant to stay at Deep Space Nine. At least that was a comfort; the station wouldn't be left undefended.

Sisko had forty-eight hours before the Bellerophon arrived, more than enough time to brief the rest of the staff and to throw a few things into a bag.

-=o=-

Fahid handed a PADD over to the shadow minister. "Your approval ratings have increased by twelve per cent."

"Since the interview?"

"Yes."

"Good. I've had some thoughts about how to build on that."

"Oh?"

"I understand that there are some demonstrations going on in San Francisco, objecting to this—" he clicked his fingers impatiently. "What's the Augment's name again?"

"Bashir. Julian Bashir."

"Yes, yes. Bashir. Anyway, the demonstrators are objecting to this Bashir's continued service in Starfleet."

"As did you, in the interview."

"Precisely. I'd like you to contact these demonstrators and arrange for me to meet with their leaders. It would make for a great photo opportunity for us all."

"You see this as a publicity stunt?"

The shadow minister chuckled. "I see everything as a publicity stunt, Samil. Haven't you learned that yet? You'll have to, if you ever want to get anywhere in this business."

"Sir?"

"Oh, come now! Don't be coy! I know you're ambitious. You wouldn't have married my daughter, if you weren't."

-=o=-

Julian hadn't recognised the address. Probably, he'd never learned it, but he recognised the buildings. They were older now, protected as part of a built-conservation area, and they were better maintained than he remembered. The neighbourhood was no longer overcrowded with down-on-their-luck humans. In another time and place, this had been Sanctuary District A, where, for a brief period, Julian and Benjamin Sisko had been residents, caught up in one of the watershed events of human history.

Thanks to Captain Sisko's impersonation of Gabriel Bell, something constructive had come out of Julian's last visit here. He wished he could believe something equally positive would come out of this. However, he didn't believe that the fate of a single genetically enhanced human was the stuff history was made of.

Julian made his way down the street, tracking the building numbers as he went, until he found number 1417. Once upon a time, the building had been made up of apartments. These days, it was divided into offices. He took the front steps two at a time, then, as the street door was standing open, he went into the building.

Julian climbed the stairs to the second floor, where he found a door bearing the legend "D Dinmont: Mediation and Representation".

This door, also, was ajar. Julian caught a glimpse of a woman beyond. He tapped on the doorframe, and asked, "Are you D Dinmont?"

The woman looked up. "Now's not a good time. You'll have to come back. I have an appointment scheduled." She was thin and young, abrupt and impatient.

"Yes. With me. I'm Julian Bashir." He walked forward, holding out his hand in greeting.

"Really?" she said, ignoring his hand even as she looked him up and down. "You don't look like a Nip."

Julian forced himself to be calm and polite, and said, "What does a Nip look like?"

Dinmont swallowed. "Square-jawed, brooding eyes, resolute... Holoprogrammes always make the Nips look bigger, broader and better looking than the rest of us. You're too skinny. Still... If you really are Julian Bashir, you'd better close the door and sit down." She gestured towards a stiff, wooden chair, which faced her desk.

Julian did as instructed.

A small, fluffy dog, with a long back and floppy ears, trotted out from her side of the desk. It bustled its way across to Julian, tail wagging, and began to snuffle around his ankles and calves. Julian bent down, let the dog sniff his hand and, when the dog decided it approved of him, he reached out and tickled it on the back of its head. The dog panted happily.

Then Julian straightened. Somehow, his befriending the dog had made Dinmont relax a little. Then he did a double-take and said, "D Dinmont... Not...?" He nodded his head in the dog's direction. "Isn't that...?"

"Yes. She's a Dandie Dinmont Terrier." Dinmont sighed. "My partner gave Daffers to me. I think she thought it'd be a cute joke. She was almost right. I mean, Daffers is cute."

"So..." said Julian, wanting to make absolutely sure that he'd got things right. "Your initial, D—"

"Is short for Dandie, yes. Fortunately, most people don't make the connection. My grandfather was a big fan of the breed, and when Mom and Dad said he could name me... They actually went along with his suggestion." She sighed again. "Imagine calling your child after a breed of dog! There's no accounting for parents."

Julian mused that, if the worst her parents had done was saddle her with a ridiculous name, she'd got off lightly.

Daffers, annoyed at Julian's short attention span, began pawing at his leg, and looked up hopefully, wanting more fuss. Julian idly reached down and tangled his fingers in the shaggy topknot on the dog's head while he twisted his head to look at and consider his host.

Dandie Dinmont had tied her fawn-coloured hair loosely at the nape of her neck. Although her hair didn't quite curl, it most definitely wasn't straight, and several strands had escaped to frame her face. She'd restricted her make-up palette to natural colours that complemented her fair skin and blue eyes.

"Now... Let's get down to business," said Dinmont. "You realise that I'm not a lawyer? My role is to act as a mediator in disputes like this, and to provide representation in settings that are less formal than a court of law."

Julian nodded.

"There are set rules and procedures that need to be followed, but a tribunal isn't a trial."

"Isn't it? It feels like one, particularly as there will be a verdict—"

"A decision, not a verdict," interjected Dinmont.

"A decision, then, at the end. What's the difference?"

"Semantics, mostly," admitted Dinmont. "Tell me, what do you know about the format of the tribunal?"

"Not much," said Julian. "I was given to understand that representatives from the MSB would run through all the processes and procedures at the Directions Conference."

"That's true," said Dinmont, "but we can't wait until then to start preparing your defence, so you need to know what to expect now."

"All right."

Dinmont proceeded to run through the stages of the disciplinary process: investigation of a complaint; decision to progress with and notification of proceedings; appointment of a mediator... "That's me," she said. "You don't have to use me, if you have someone else you'd prefer."

Julian shook his head.

"Okay," she said, but Julian thought she sounded a little disappointed to be stuck with him. However, she continued her explanation, so maybe he'd imagined it. "Next we have the Directions Conference, where, as you said, the MSB will set out all the processes and procedures for the tribunal. That's also when we'll get confirmation of the time and location of the hearing, as well as who will be on the disciplinary panel. Pierre Delon, as chair of the board, is pretty much a given, but we'll have to wait to find out who the others will be."

Julian nodded. Delon's involvement didn't come as any real surprise.

Dinmont picked up a PADD and a stylus, ready to take notes. "Now," said Dinmont, "we know what you've been charged with: bringing the medical profession into disrepute by entering the profession and practicing medicine illegally."

"Yes," admitted Julian.

"Yes, that's what you've been charged with, or, yes, it's true."

"Both," he said. "All of it."

Dinmont pursed her lips. "Pity. Well, if we can't disprove any of it, then I suppose we'll just have to plead mitigating circumstances and see if we can't get you off on compassionate grounds, or something. I have to admit—" She broke off.

"You have to admit, what?"

"When you first arrived... Like I said, you don't look like a Nip, so I hoped some ghastly mistake had been made. That would have made my job much easier."

"Sorry," said Julian, with only a little sarcasm colouring the word.

"Okay, then. So. H'm. Mitigating circumstances. Any ideas?"

Julian stared at her. Wasn't she supposed to come up with a plan of campaign, rather than the other way around?

Dinmont tapped her stylus impatiently against her PADD. "Are you a good doctor?" she asked.

"Yes."

"And have you ever breached professional standards in any way other than the whole practicing illegally thing?"

"No. Never."

"You're fully qualified?"

"Yes. I graduated second in my year at Starfleet Medical."

Dinmont raised an eyebrow. "Not first? That surprises me, what with you being enhanced and all."

To hide his embarrassment, Julian distracted himself by fussing Daffers. Then he said stiffly, "No, not first. I made a mistake in the finals, a mistake that no first-year medical student would have made."

"On purpose?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Julian.

"Did you...cheat...to make sure you didn't come first, or are you actually fallible?"

Julian cringed inwardly. He was fallible, but in that particular instance, he'd cheated. He hadn't wanted the attention that would have come with being class valedictorian. It was just one in a long, long list of things he hadn't dared win. It was also the one he felt most bitter about. He should have been top in his year; would have been, had he not been so damn scared.

He could feel Dinmont's eyes on him as he took his time over not answering. Finally, she said. "I see. Maybe I don't want to know."

Julian shook his head slightly.

"Any key achievements? Research papers? Plaudits? Prizes? Major contributions to the profession?"

"I can provide you with a list of my peer reviewed journal articles and conference papers," he said.

"That would be useful."

"And I'm the youngest person ever to have been nominated for the Carrington Award."

Dinmont jotted something down. Then she said, "Why did you decide to become a doctor?"

"Because...I wanted to help people. And I thought I had something to offer," said Julian.

"But why medicine? Why not something else? Couldn't you have chosen to do something where your genetic status would have been less of an issue?"

Julian wondered whether Dinmont had any idea of the absurdity of her question. Probably not, he decided. He chose his words carefully. "As a genetically enhanced human, I would have faced obstacles no matter what career I chose to follow. The only thing I could have done where my status wouldn't have been an issue is...nothing. I didn't want to do nothing, so I chose to do something that interested me. I chose medicine."

Dinmont nodded, accepting his explanation, and changed topic. "Do you have anyone who might provide you with a character reference?"

"Captain Sisko might," Julian said, feeling doubtful. "He's been my commanding officer since I graduated from Starfleet Academy."

"Anyone else?"

"Maybe Miles O'Brien," said Julian. "He's Chief of Operations on Deep Space Nine. He's my friend."

Dinmont nodded as she added to her notes. "Anyone else?"

"I'll...have to think about it."

"You do that. The more people we have, the better," said Dinmont. "You'll need to be quick about it, though. At the Directions Conference, we'll have to provide a list of the evidence and the witnesses we intend to present at the tribunal. The other side will do the same."

"But we already know what they're going to say, don't we?"

"Broadly speaking, yes. The investigating officer has produced a report, and has already demonstrated that you have a case to answer."

"And you've see that report?"

"I have. But what I don't know is how the other side will choose to present that information, or whether they'll have any witnesses to...back it up."

Julian frowned. "Why would they need to back anything up? What I did is a matter of record."

Dinmont sighed. "Are you always this defeatist?"

Julian didn't know what to say, so he said nothing.

Dinmont sighed again. "Well, I think we've done all we can for the moment. You send me that information, and I'll start pulling a case together. And I'll be in touch again in a few days. All right?"

"All right," said Julian. He stood up.

Daffers saw him out.

-=o=-

O'Brien hung back after the staff meeting ended. "Captain," he said. "Will you be seeing Julian while you're on Earth?"

"I'm not sure," said Sisko, his mind only half on the conversation. "I hadn't really thought about it."

"Can you try?"

Sisko glanced at O'Brien and wondered what he wasn't saying.

As if O'Brien had read his mind, he said, "I just want to know that he's all right."

"Any reason why he shouldn't be?"

"No... Only a gut feeling. He sent me a message, saying everything was fine, but I know that can't be true. Plus, I know that Julian didn't think he'd be coming back." That got Sisko's full attention.

"Why do you say that?" he asked, looking directly at O'Brien.

"Because... We talked about it, before he left. He made sure that the infirmary was in a state where someone else could take over. And he packed...his most treasured possession."

Sisko could feel his eyes widen as he stared at O'Brien. "I knew that he was worried, but I didn't realise he was _that_ worried."

"It's not just that, sir. To be honest, I'm not sure that Julian will want to come back, even if he can."

Sisko felt as though he'd been slapped in the face. After all he'd done to make life easier for the doctor! Of all the ungrateful...! Carefully, he said, "Why not?"

O'Brien stood up straighter, apparently drawing strength from the formality of the pose, and said, "He doesn't feel comfortable here any longer, sir."

"Would you care to explain that to me, Chief?"

Somehow, O'Brien managed to straighten up even more. "He said your edicts helped. He wasn't being attacked any more, but people were still whispering and avoiding him. His patients wanted to be treated by someone else."

Sisko sighed, suddenly feeling deflated. When he'd banned Amoruso from the station, he'd thought he'd solved Julian's problems, but apparently he'd barely scratched the surface, like putting a sticking plaster over a broken leg. "All right, Chief. I'll check on him."

"Thanks, Captain."

Sisko could hear the relief in O'Brien's voice and he saw the tension leave O'Brien's body.

He watched as O'Brien exited the room, then he stood up and stared out of the port.

Sisko wanted Deep Space Nine to be a haven, a shining beacon of Federation life and culture, an exemplar of what the Federation had to offer. He'd believed in the ideal of Deep Space Nine. Yet, he'd been blind, at least as far as Julian was concerned, because the reality was so very far from ideal.

Or maybe Sisko had got things wrong on a far more fundamental level. Maybe the Federation wasn't what he'd thought it was. Maybe Deep Space Nine was a true reflection of Federation values, at least as far as attitudes towards the genetically enhanced were concerned.

The thought that the intolerance shown towards Julian might be acceptable in Federation society was repugnant to Sisko. What message did that send out, not just to the Federation peoples on the station, but also to the Bajorans, the Cardassians, and all the other alien races they came into contact with? It reminded him too strongly of the civil rights abuses he'd learned about in his history classes. Humankind, the Federation, should be better than this.

Sisko sighed. He paced and cracked his knuckles.

Telnorri had warned him that Julian was incapable of asking for help when he needed it. Sisko had promised himself that he would keep an eye on his junior colleague. He'd realised that Julian had a tendency to understate or hide his problems, and yet Sisko had still failed to see the obvious.

Deep Space Nine hadn't been a haven for Julian. Julian should have felt safe here; the station was his home. But he'd been assaulted in its corridors, his old quarters had been vandalised, and he'd felt the need to withdraw from station society.

And now O'Brien was saying that Julian didn't think he'd be coming back.

Sisko spun around and slammed his fist down onto the wardroom table.

-=o=-

Julian sat in what had quickly become his usual corner of Starfleet Medical's cafeteria. He wished that the lighting was dimmer. He wished the shadows were darker, easier to hide in. He wished the protestors would just _shut up_! He wished for anonymity. If he couldn't have company, then he would have preferred to be somewhere where he could be properly alone, somewhere where he wouldn't be stared at. He bowed his head and concentrated on his food. He suspected that he was being childish, but he hoped that, if he couldn't see anyone else, maybe they wouldn't see him.

He ignored the approaching footsteps, but he couldn't ignore the woman's voice. "Hello. May I join you?"

Julian looked up. The newcomer was human: approaching middle age; blonde hair... Then he looked around. There were plenty of other places to sit, plenty of other people she could have chosen to sit with. Plus, all the tables nearest him were conspicuously vacant. Why would she want to join him?

"If you like," he said, if not warmly, then at least politely.

"You're Dr Bashir, aren't you." It wasn't a question, and her use of his title leapt out at him. He could count on the fingers of one hand the number of people who had extended him that courtesy since he'd arrived, and he still had fingers left over.

Julian looked at her again, this time with more interest, and nodded.

She put down her tray then held out her hand, something else people had avoided doing around him. "I'm Karen Loews. Dr Karen Loews."

He shook her hand, struck by the thoroughly normal way she was treating him. Normal had become so abnormal since he'd been outed; he'd almost forgotten what it felt like.

He was grateful for her manners, but he still couldn't quite bring himself to say, "Pleased to meet you." Instead, he settled on a simple, "Hello."

"I've been asked to assess you," she said.

"Isn't that what Doctors Tsonga and Crane have been doing? Assessing me?"

"Yes. But neither of them are psychiatrists. Plus, apparently, I'm the closest Starfleet has to an expert on genetically enhanced people. To be honest with you, that isn't saying a lot."

"You have experience of the genetically enhanced?"

"I work at the Institute."

Julian felt himself withdrawing. The Institute was the stuff of nightmares, or of his nightmares, at any rate. In games of Nips, Tweaks and Iqs, those people who got caught usually ended up in "the Institute". Over the years, the name had become a euphemism, albeit one based on a real place. He swallowed and managed to squeeze out a single, "Oh."

She smiled at him sympathetically. "Don't worry. I haven't come to lock you away."

"Am I that obvious?"

"Yes, I'm afraid you are. Besides, that's what I'd be thinking, if I were in your shoes."

"Oh," said Julian again.

"I was posted to the Institute six months ago, and I found four genetically enhanced patients there, mixed in with the general population. To say that their intellectual needs weren't being met would be a gross understatement. I asked that they be removed from the rest of the patients, and the behavioural problems they'd been exhibiting lessened dramatically. I only did what any practitioner with an ounce of common sense would have done, but now I'm an expert." She shrugged.

Julian had long wondered whether there were other people like him, although it wasn't a question he'd ever felt comfortable asking. But he'd calculated the probabilities, and he'd known that the odds were against him being unique. Someone had suggested to his parents that he could be treated, that he could be changed, and that suggestion had to have come from somewhere.

At medical school, Julian had come across case studies about several genetically enhanced individuals; they had all suffered side effects from the various treatments they'd been subjected to. But all the case studies had been at least a hundred years old. They'd been used as warnings from history, from a past beyond which humankind had grown. Humanity knew better now.

Only it didn't, did it? He existed, and here was Karen Loews telling him that there were other living cases "out there".

"Quite honestly, I'm not sure what Starfleet Medical expects me to do with you. You've obviously been..."

"Passing for normal?" interjected Julian, only slightly bitterly.

"Yes," said Dr Loews, who at least had the grace to look a little embarrassed. "And quite successfully for a number of years, from what I can gather. Plus, I understand that you've been cooperating fully with the tests. I don't know what more Starfleet expects from either of us."

Julian toyed with his spoon.

"I've read your personnel file as well as your medical records," said Loews.

"I assumed you would have done."

"Your record's impressive. You've done some amazing things since you qualified."

Julian didn't answer. Instead, he just waited for her to continue. However, before she did, he suddenly cocked his head, distracted. In the process, he distracted Loews, too.

"What is it?"

"Nothing."

"It's not nothing. So, what is it?"

Julian suppressed a sigh and struggled to speak blandly. "The demonstrators. They've started a new chant."

"You can hear them," she said, sounding faintly surprised.

Julian nodded. "I take it, you can't."

"No," she agreed.

He bit his lip and forced himself not to say, "Lucky you."

Loews changed the subject. "Dr Tsonga's team have all been very impressed," she said invitingly.

Julian nodded vaguely.

"I've never heard of a human who could master the Altonian Brainteaser."

_Freak._

"But I've never heard of any genetically enhanced person mastering it, either. Either someone has the mental capacity to complete it or they have the self-control. You're the only human I've ever heard of who has both."

Julian didn't know what to say. Did that make him even more of a freak than he'd already thought himself to be?

Karen Loews smiled at him. "Don't look so worried, Doctor! It's not a bad thing, being able to do this. All it means is that, even among the genetically enhanced, you're special."

_Freak._

Loews shook her head. "I don't know what you're thinking right now, but I can tell that it's not good. How can I explain, make you see that this is a good thing? It means...you're you. An individual. You shouldn't be lumped into a catch-all category of 'Augment' or 'evil' or even 'freak' or 'monster'."

Julian blushed and ducked his head, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

"Ah! So that's what you think, is it?"

Julian nodded, discomfited.

"You're you. You're unique. And like everyone else in this universe, you're special."

-=o=-

Julian took a while to warm to Karen Loews, but he suspected that had more to do with his increasingly suspicious nature than it had to do with her. She was only ever polite—even considerate—towards him. He thought that, had they met under other circumstances, he would have found her easy to like. As it was, he didn't dislike her.

She was...gentler than Telnorri. Telnorri had been adept at maintaining a professional distance in their sessions. Telnorri had listened, he'd asked questions, and then he'd listened some more. However, the information flow had always been in one direction; Telnorri had taken information from Julian, but had never given anything in return.

Loews was different. Her approach was to talk _with_ him, not just to prod him into talking to her. Although he wasn't sure whether she liked him, or whether she was simply very effective at what she did, she provided him with the closest approximation to companionship he had on Earth, and he was grateful. That undoubtedly influenced his willingness to talk.

Maybe he was lonely enough that he would have talked to anyone, or maybe he talked because she invested time with him, or maybe she just knew which questions to ask to get him to open up. Whatever the reason, he found himself telling her things that he had never admitted to Telnorri. Even so, he didn't tell her everything.

He told her about his life on Deep Space Nine, emphasising how it had been...before. He told her how Benjamin Sisko and Miles O'Brien had supported him when his secret had come out and had tried to help afterwards. He touched upon his fears and his nightmares, and he skirted around how his life had changed since he'd been outed, leaving her to learn more from what he didn't say than from what he did.

In return, she drip-fed him information about her life at the Institute and about her patients, always leaving him wanting to know more. Julian wasn't sure whether his curiosity stemmed from his being a doctor or from his being genetically enhanced and wanting to learn more about people like himself. Maybe it didn't matter. Either way, his questions would have been the same: what problems do they have? What are they like? What can they do? What are they allowed to do?

"They're all different," said Loews, several days into their acquaintance. "As are their problems. I could arrange for you to meet them, if you want."

Julian thought about the patients and he thought about the Institute, and he said, "I'll think about it."

-=o=-

"Benjamin!" Joseph's face split into a delighted smile and he opened his arms, inviting Sisko into a hug.

"Dad," Sisko said. He felt his father wrap his arms around him and he replied in kind. It was a well-practiced manoeuvre, and it made Sisko feel warm inside. The embrace was just as much a part of coming home as helping out in the restaurant, seeing the alligator hanging from the ceiling, and the smell of Creole spice.

As they pulled apart, Joseph said, "Jake didn't come with you?"

"Not this time."

"Shame. Still, it's good to see you. How long can you stay?"

Sisko looked sombrely at his father. "I'm not sure. It depends how long the meetings drag on for."

"Meetings?"

"There's going to be a war. I've been summoned home to talk to the brass. I'm the closest thing they have to an expert on the Dominion, and certain political forces are putting pressure on Starfleet. Starfleet needs to be seen to be doing something, so there are going to be a lot of meetings and seminars...and here I am."

"You sound cynical," said Joseph.

"That's because I am. Talking isn't the same as doing, and I think I could be doing more, back on the station."

"How _are_ things on the station? How's young Nog getting on? And how's that interesting fellow of yours, Odo?"

"They're fine. Odo's people turned him into a 'solid' for a while, but he's back to his natural state now. But enough about work! Tell me about you! And Nathan and the rest of the crowd. And when am I going to see Judith?"

"Tomorrow, if you want. She's coming to dinner."

Sisko's smile widened into a grin. Despite his professional qualms, he couldn't deny that it felt good to be home.

-=o=-

The next morning, a young ensign escorted Sisko to the conference room that Admiral Fischer had commandeered for that day's meeting. The ensign was human: petite and brunette. When asked, she told him that her name was Louise McCauley, and that she had been assigned as a junior adjutant to Fischer three months before.

Sisko knew Admiral Fischer by name only. In his preparations for the meeting, Sisko had looked up Fischer's biography and, as a result, he knew that Fischer was in charge of Starfleet's exterior intelligence activities. Sisko had also learned that Fischer hailed from mainland Europe, was in his sixties, and enjoyed Nordic skiing.

The conference room, which was empty when Sisko arrived, was large and airy, with windows that opened. McCauley offered to get Sisko a drink from the replicator; he accepted gratefully, and asked for a raktajino. Then he wandered over to the window and looked out.

The Golden Gate Bridge glowed in the morning sun, and the water in the bay twinkled invitingly. Above, the blue sky was speckled with small, white clouds.

McCauley handed him his drink just as the door reopened. She turned around to welcome Admiral Nechayev and again went through the hospitable routine of offering refreshments. Sisko was astonished, as he always was on the rare occasions when they met, at how much bigger Nechayev's personality was than her stature.

Next to arrive were two commanders, neither of whom had been included in any of the pre-meeting communications. Sisko concluded that they were late additions to the invitation list. They introduced themselves as Commanders Zontak and Petterson, and said that they were experts in public relations. Their role was to advise on how to communicate Starfleet's activities to an increasingly worried general public.

Last to arrive were Admirals Ross and Fischer. Sisko knew Ross of old. He'd put on a bit of weight, and the lines around his eyes and the slightly loose jowls were new, but the dark hair and solemn eyes were familiar. Ross looked stocky in comparison to Fischer, who was a lanky human, tall enough to have developed a slight stoop over the years. Fischer, Sisko couldn't help noticing, had an impressively complete head of silver hair.

Fischer summoned everyone to the table, made formal introductions, and called the meeting to order.

-=o=-

"So, you'll take tomorrow off, too, then?" Loews asked, as she and Julian prepared to leave the building for the day.

Julian nodded. "It makes sense that we synchronise my schedule to match yours." In reality, he didn't have much choice; without Loews to keep him occupied, he wouldn't have anything to do. He'd volunteered to help in Starfleet's hospital facility; his offer had been politely—but firmly—rebuffed.

"Good." She smiled. "Have you got any plans for your free time?"

Julian shook his head. "No. Not really."

"Then try and get some rest. You look like you could use it."

Julian nodded. He knew that she was right, but he also knew that, even if he got to sleep, there was no guarantee that his rest would be restful.

"I take it you're having problems sleeping," she said.

Julian didn't respond to her comment. He knew she'd interpret his silence as an affirmative, and that she'd fill in the gaps for herself.

For as long as he could remember, Julian had suffered from bouts of insomnia and nightmares. Since his stay in the Gamma Quadrant, he'd been suffering particularly badly, and the problem had only worsened since the truth about his genetic background had been revealed.

As they crossed the atrium, they ran into Arthur Bratwell, who was walking in the opposite direction. Julian greeted him, but Bratwell continued past him as though he were invisible.

Embarrassed that Loews had witnessed the encounter and hurt by Bratwell's behaviour, Julian's lips tightened, his stride lengthened, and he picked up pace.

Loews had to jog to catch up. She put her hand on Julian's forearm and steered him to the side of the atrium. "Who was that?" she asked.

"Arthur Bratwell," said Julian. "He was in the year below me at medical school."

"You didn't get on?"

"We got along fine. We were on the same racquetball team."

"But he just cut you dead!"

Julian didn't say anything.

"Because you're enhanced?"

"I suppose so. Or because I lied about it, or because I kept it quiet. I don't suppose it matters. Whichever it is, the end results are the same: he hates me." Julian didn't bother to tell her about the incident in the cafeteria, that his loneliness had driven him to give Bratwell the benefit of a doubt he wasn't sure he had, or that Bratwell hadn't bothered to answer either of the messages Julian had sent. Julian had assumed—or at least hoped—that Bratwell had gone off-world, and that was why he hadn't replied. That Bratwell had chosen to ignore him hurt more than Julian cared to admit.

"It matters a great deal," said Loews. "Is he a bigot, or is he merely angry?"

Julian looked at her.

"Maybe he just needs time to accept what's happened," she said.

Julian shook his head in disagreement. Time couldn't alter the truth about what he was.

Loews sighed. "Do you want him to forgive you?"

He shrugged. "Some things aren't easy to forgive."

"That's true. But it's not what I asked. Come over here."

Reluctantly, he followed her to the waiting area, which was currently empty.

When they were sitting down, facing each other, Loews leaned forwards and said, "Tell me, which of these statements apply to you? You expect to be hated."

"Yes," whispered Julian.

"You deserve to be hated."

"Yes."

"People have every right to be angry with you for lying, cheating and breaking the law?"

"Yes. Yes to all of them!" The volume of Julian's voice rose along with his agitation.

"What if you're wrong?"

The world stood still. Or maybe it tilted on its axis. Or maybe it was only Julian who was thrown off balance, struck by the full force of Loews's question.

"Wrong?" asked Julian, his voice suddenly rendered small and quiet by his confusion.

"Let me ask you another question. You didn't ask for any of this. You obviously didn't want to be enhanced. So why do you think you deserve what's happening to you?"

Sisko had said something similar, during the staff meeting, back on the station. He'd told the other senior officers that Julian had had no control over what had happened to him, that being enhanced was something that had been done to him, that Julian was not to blame. O'Brien had also stressed that Julian had had no choice.

Julian had assumed that they'd defended him—even forgiven him—because they were his friends, and that was the kind of thing friends did. Wasn't it? Julian didn't have much direct experience of friends, so he wasn't altogether sure.

Now, here was Loews, almost a stranger, saying something similar. For the first time, Julian found himself wondering whether Sisko's and O'Brien's defences of him hadn't been about forgiveness or moral support at all. Maybe they'd defended him because they'd actually believed what they'd said.

Julian stared at Loews. Then he said softly, "It's not a question of what I deserve. It's a matter of fact. I am what I am, and nothing can change that, and nothing is going to change society's views about what I am."

Loews sighed. "You don't have any of the obvious problems that my patients have. But you're harder on yourself than any of them are."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't get me wrong: they're angry and they're frustrated. But they're angry at the world. They're angry about what's happened to them. But they don't hate themselves the way you seem to."

"I don't hate my—"

"Yes, you do. You just won't admit it, and, until you admit it, you're never going to get past it."

-=o=-

Sisko walked across the grounds, heading for the public transporters. The longer the meetings had gone on, the more impatient he'd got. There was so much hot air being spouted and yet very little was being achieved.

They had spent the first hour of the morning's meeting discussing what their little group should call itself. Should it have War Preparedness in its title? Or maybe they should call themselves the Dominion Defence...something. Commander Petterson had been eager that they brainstorm ideas, but then he and Commander Zontak had veered off on a tangent, debating whether they were brainstorming or thought showering. Then the group had argued about whether they were a task group, a project team, short-life working group, policy group, committee, sub-committee or something else entirely. They hadn't come to any conclusions, and had decided to revisit the question again the following day.

They had finally moved away from the question of their name, only to focus on something else that was equally pointless. The next set of discussions had centred on how to deal with the current public relations problem, and how to appease Shiva Ghazi and his followers. None of it seemed to be a constructive preparation for the war ahead. What, Sisko wondered, would the Founders make of these meetings, if they got wind of them? Didn't they make Starfleet look like a walkover?

Sisko was tired and frustrated. He wanted to go home, spend some more time with his father, reconnect with his sister, and eat good food.

Sisko couldn't wait to get back to New Orleans. He would kill for a plate of Nathan's crawfish and shrimp etouffé right about now. He decided that it couldn't hurt to put off checking on Julian for another day.

-=o=-

Julian spent much of the evening brooding about what Loews had said. Did he hate himself? Or did he simply hate what had been done to him? Was there any meaningful difference between the two?

He slept badly, his dreams drawing on the past and the present, and peppered with hospitals and prisons, doctors, soldiers and protestors. When morning came, he still felt tired.

The new day stretched emptily ahead. As he had nothing to get up for, he lay in bed for far longer than was usual. Eventually, however, boredom drove him to get up, just for something to do. He showered, dressed and breakfasted.

He was just putting his utensils back into the replicator for recycling when the computer beeped. He turned around and saw that the terminal was flashing. He went over to see who had messaged him.

Julian had thought that Tsonga had exhausted all possible ways to test him. Apparently he'd been wrong, because the message informed him that his presence was required at Medical at 10:00 hours. Julian's irritation was outweighed by his relief at having something to do.

-=o=-

As Julian finished signing in at reception, two men dressed in mustard-coloured uniforms appeared out of nowhere. One flanked him on his left, the other on his right. Then a woman appeared. She had fair skin and hair so dark it was almost certainly dyed. She wore scarlet lipstick and a heavy foundation that didn't quite disguise her crow's feet. "I'm Commander Roughsedge," she'd said. "And you're Doctor Julian Subatoi Bashir." Something in the way she used his title and sounded out his name in full told Julian that she set little value on any of it, or on him. "I think you may be under a bit of a misapprehension. Doctor Tsonga didn't summon you here. We did."

Julian felt his eyes narrow even as his hackles rose. "And who are 'we'?"

Roughsedge smiled, but there was no warmth to her expression. "That's strictly need to know, and you don't. Come with us."

"I don't think so," said Julian, standing his ground and crossing his arms over his chest. "Not until you tell me where we're going, or why."

Her pseudo-smile dropped from her face, and Roughsedge nodded at the men. They drew their phasers and pointed them at Julian. "Now," she said, "do you want to create a scene, or will you come quietly? Either way, you will be coming with us."

Was this another test? Probably... Julian glanced around. So far, their actions appeared to have gone unnoticed. He didn't want any new rumours or speculation circulating. Plus, outnumbered and outgunned, there was no way he was going to win this argument. He sighed. "All right. I'm coming."

Roughsedge led the little group to the turbolift. Once inside, Julian found himself surrounded by the mustard-coloured personnel. The doors closed.

Instead of giving a destination, Roughsedge said, "Computer: lock doors and hold position."

Julian flicked his eyes around, suddenly regretting wholeheartedly his decision not to make a scene when he'd had the chance. "What are you doing?" he asked, and he could hear a tinge of panic in his voice.

Behind him, Roughsedge moved. He turned, but too late and too slowly.

He heard and felt the hiss of a hypospray.

Dizziness.

Blurring vision.

Then nothing.


	8. Chapter 8

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Thank you all for the lovely response I got to the last chapter. I hope that this one lives up to your hopes and expectations...

-=o=-

**Chapter Eight**

Julian awoke to find himself sprawling on his back, coarse fabric scratching at the exposed skin of his hands. Slowly, he blinked his eyes open. At first, he thought he was seeing a blur, but when the blur failed to resolve itself into anything more meaningful than featureless grey, he realised that he was staring up at a ceiling. He turned his head. The walls were grey, too.

Grey...

His heart raced into overdrive and he jolted upright as, for one terrible moment, he thought that he was back in Internment Camp 371. Then he looked around more closely and he realised that he didn't recognise the barracks room he was in. Was he in some other Dominion facility?

Julian's brain was more sluggish than usual. He felt slow and heavy, and he had to scrabble around in his mind, hunting for details that he would have normally catalogued automatically.

The bolts in the metal walls were standard Starfleet issue and the walls, themselves, were just the wrong shade. The dimensions of the room and its furnishings were Federation metric, and the bedding wasn't grimy enough to be Dominion. Although the mattress and the pillow were lumpy enough to be convincing, they smelled incongruously of a familiar laundry detergent. The air smelled and tasted different, too.

Reason slowly drifted in. This wasn't a Dominion prison. Rather, it was a poor approximation of one, created by someone who had never seen the real thing.

So... He wasn't back with the Dominion. Julian felt his pulse slow and his breathing steady. But, if he wasn't back in the Gamma Quadrant, where was he?

Julian closed his eyes and concentrated. He remembered getting up. He remembered a message requesting that he report to Starfleet Medical for more tests... He remembered crossing the campus, detouring to give the ever-growing throng of demonstrators the widest berth he could.

At Starfleet Medical, he'd reported to reception...said he was there to see Dr Tsonga...

Then—

Julian's eyes snapped open as the memories came flooding back.

Starfleet did this to him. Starfleet had drugged him and imprisoned him, and had tried to make it look like it was the Dominion.

Why? Where was he? How long had he been unconscious?

Julian looked inside himself, but he couldn't find any answers. Then he tottered to his feet and began to explore his surroundings. Were they real or holographic? He couldn't tell. There were no windows, and the doors at the end of the barracks room were locked.

He tapped his comm badge, which chittered and died. Had it been deactivated, were communications being blocked, or was he out of range of any receivers or transmitters?

For practical reasons, he guessed that he was probably in a holosuite, with communications being blocked. It would have taken less time and resources to write a programme than to build a facility in real space.

Optimistically, he called out: "Computer: end programme!" There was no response. He tried again. "Computer: doors!" Finally, he tried, "Computer: arch!"

If this was a holoprogramme, then it had been written in such a way as to deny him access to any of its controls.

This had to be yet another test, he decided. Did they—whoever they were—think he wouldn't be able to figure that out? Was this perhaps another psych test? One designed to check his responses to...what? Danger? Difficult situations?

What did they expect him to do? Try to recreate the escape from Internment Camp 371?

Well, he wasn't going to play ball. He knew—at least broadly speaking—who was behind this, and, that being so, he assumed he was in no real danger. This was no more than a scenario, and he wasn't with a Federation enemy.

Julian decided that he might as well sit back and wait for something to happen. Something told him that his "captors" would blink first.

Julian lay back down on the lumpy bed and, against all expectations, he fell asleep.

-=o=-

The morning sun streamed into the conference room, bathing it in light and warming Sisko's back through his clothing. The feeling of the sun's heat seeping into his body was a delightful planetside feeling, and one he never thought to miss until he met it anew, and it made him want to stretch and smile. The pleasure was accentuated by the fact that someone had opened a window, making the most of a breeze of natural air.

They were in a different conference room today, although the players remained the same. Around him, his colleagues engaged in the usual pre-meeting activities of making small talk, collecting drinks, milling around, and waiting for the laggards to arrive.

"What _is _that racket?" demanded Admiral Nechayev, and Sisko registered that freshness wasn't the only thing being carried into the building by the draught. There was noise, too.

"It's the demonstrators, sir," said Ensign McCauley.

"I damn well wish they'd go demonstrate somewhere else! Close the window and re-enable the environonmental controls."

"Demonstrators?" asked Sisko quietly, snagging McCauley's elbow as she walked past, on her way towards the window.

"It's nothing," McCauley said, although her expression didn't quite match her dismissive words. "Just some nonsense about the Augment who's staying in the officers' accommodation."

"Augment...?" Sisko's skin prickled. "Are you talking about Dr Bashir?"

"Some name like that, yes, sir."

Sisko closed his eyes slowly, then opened them again. With trepidation, he said, "What are they demonstrating about?"

"They want him out of Starfleet," said Admiral Ross, chiming in. "Their favourite chant is quite an earworm. Can't get the wretched thing out of my head."

Sisko raised his eyebrows and let McCauley go. She escaped and went to finish obeying Nechayev's orders.

"'Augment, out, out, out'. It's hardly original," said Ross. "I don't know why security can't just move them along."

Admiral Nechayev joined in. "I asked the same question. I was told they have the right to protest, so long as they're orderly. Freedom of expression and all that."

"And Dr Bashir? Doesn't he have a right to be protected from all this?" asked Sisko.

Admiral Nechayev shrugged. "I guess he might have the right to express an opinion of his own. Then again, he is an Augment, so maybe he doesn't."

"Meaning what, exactly?" asked Sisko.

"Meaning, there are different rules for Augments. Speaking of which, the demonstrators have a point. He shouldn't be in Starfleet, no matter what ridiculous deal that idiot Bennett came up with. Shiva Ghazi is right about that, if nothing else."

"Shiva Ghazi," said Sisko flatly, letting his disapproval colour his words. He straightened his shoulders. "Julian Bashir is a good man. A good officer and a great doctor. He doesn't deserve to be railroaded over something that was done to him as a child."

"Why do you care?" asked Ross. "He's just a Nip."

Sisko clamped down on his anger and forced himself to answer calmly. "I'm his commanding officer. We've served together for almost five years. I would trust him with my life. I _have_ trusted him."

Just then, the door slid open and the two commanders came in, closely followed by Admiral Fischer. They all gushed apologies and explanations for their tardiness, cutting the discussion short. But Sisko mulled over what he'd just heard as Fischer and the others quickly helped themselves from the replicator and everyone made their way to their seats, and he quietly worried and seethed.

-=o=-

When the door to the barracks room opened, Julian realised that, once again, he had no idea how much time had passed. Usually, he knew down to the nearest minute. Something was messing with his mind.

Drugs. Yes. He remembered now. He'd been drugged.

He opened his eyes and rolled over and up into a sitting position. The newcomer was a Vorta, and he was flanked by two Jem'Hadar.

Sluggishly, he reasoned that, if the Jem'Hadar were here and this wasn't real, then there could no longer be any doubt that he was in a holosuite. He might possibly still be in the Medical complex.

The programme's rendering of his captors was more convincing than its rendering of the physical fabric of his prison. Presumably the holoprogramme's designers had had more information about them to draw on.

The Vorta spoke. "Welcome to Dominion Internment Camp 479. There is neither escape nor release, except through death."

Julian couldn't help himself. He snorted derisively.

"I see nothing to laugh about," said the Vorta archly.

"I do. You're not even convincing," said Julian. "You're saying his lines." He pointed at one of the silent Jem'Hadar. "Plus, you're not smarmy enough to be a Vorta. You need to be more obs...obsequious." Why was the word so hard to say? Julian shook his head in an attempt to clear it.

The Vorta looked nonplussed. "I don't understand."

"What?" sneered Julian. "Don't tell me: I'm behaving outside the parameters of the programme."

"The programme?" said the Vorta.

"You are a hologram, aren't you?" said Julian.

"I am Vorta," said the Vorta, and Julian recognised the futility of his question; the Vorta wouldn't have been programmed with true self-awareness of his holographic nature.

Julian staggered to his feet and took a few paces towards the Vorta. He leaned forward and peered owlishly into the Vorta's face. "Your eyes are wrong. Definitely wrong." He nodded to himself. "You're not real."

The Vorta stared at Julian. Julian stared back. They'd reached an impasse. Neither moved, the Vorta stilled by the limits of his programme and Julian slowed down by the haze in his brain.

The doors to the holosuite appeared out of nowhere and opened. Commander Roughsedge strode in, looking angry. Julian smirked at her, but the smile slipped off his face as he took in the fact that she was accompanied by four mustard-uniformed personnel, all of whom wore phasers on their hips.

"Computer: freeze programme!" shouted Roughsedge. Julian noticed jealously that the command worked for her.

The Jem'Hadar and Vorta stilled, leaving only the Starfleet officers able to move. Roughsedge scowled at Julian. "How did you know this wasn't real?" she demanded.

"Does it matter?" asked Julian.

"Probably not, but I'd like to know anyway."

"Ask nicely, and I might tell you."

"Tell me," snarled Roughsedge. Then, after a beat, she said, "Please." The last word dripped with sarcasm.

Julian didn't want to put all his cards on the table, so he gave her only a partial answer, managing to override the drugs, which seemed to make him want to speak his mind. "Too many of the details are wrong."

"And you noticed."

"I had a lot of time to become very familiar with Dominion facilities," said Julian. "And their personnel. I know what they look like, and this isn't it."

"We were told that the drug would make you more suggestible. You shouldn't have been able to tell that this wasn't real."

"Sorry," said Julian wryly, and well aware that he didn't sound the least bit apologetic.

"We obviously didn't give you a large enough dosage of the kenfitamol," Roughsedge said.

Kenfitamol! They'd plied him with a notorious psychotropic. No wonder his thought processes were so scrambled! "How much did you give me?"

"The standard dose."

"Then you can't give me any more."

"Of course we can."

"No!" The word came out as a panicked yelp. "You don't understand! You _mustn't_ give me any more! I—"

But Roughsedge wasn't listening. Instead, she called over her minions.

She was wrong about the dose he'd been given. The drug was working. He could feel it affecting his body, his reflexes. If he could still think reasonably clearly, it was in spite of the psychotropic, not because the dose was too low. More could kill him. A lot more would kill him! His physiology was still close enough to human norms for that to be true.

He backed away, but the minions surrounded him. Two grabbed his arms; the others caught hold of his shoulders. Between them, they wrestled him back to the bed. Julian struggled, but he was outnumbered.

The backs of his knees hit the bed frame. His legs buckled and he was forced to sit down. Roughsedge's face leaned in close. He could see each and every one of her eyelashes...the almost hidden pock marks of ancient acne...the hypospray that had suddenly appeared in her hand.

He tried again, struggling against their hold and at the same time trying to argue. "You can't do this! You'll kill—"

The hypo hissed against the skin of his neck.

Oh, God! Oh, God! His life mightn't have much to recommend it these days, but he didn't want to die!

The world swirled around him, and his mind clouded over. He tried to hold on to the reality of his surroundings. For a moment, he was back on Adigeon Prime. He clawed his way past the memory, towards comprehension, and he found that he wasn't on Adigeon Prime at all. He was somewhere else, somewhere familiar... Grey walls, grey ceilings and floors, and a different remembered pain and horror and fear...

But who were these people? Weren't they supposed to be grey, too?

He could feel the drug coursing through his system. He felt his eyes glazing in and out of focus. He struggled to concentrate and to follow the conversation. The woman's words... He found a name from somewhere; she was called Roughsedge. Roughsedge's words were distorted, as though they were part of a subspace communication passing through an ion storm. Then she floated up and drifted away.

-=o=-

Minutes passed like hours and hours dragged like days, but finally the meeting recessed for lunch, with Fischer saying, "We'll reconvene back here at two o'clock."

Sisko stood up and stretched some kinks out of his back. He decided to grab a quick snack, then go for a walk. Fresh air would do him as much good as food; indeed, it might even refresh him enough to withstand the next few hours of hot air. Plus, he wanted to get away from the Admirals who had so outraged him earlier.

After a replicated sandwich, he took the turbolift down to the ground floor and went outside.

The sound of chanting assaulted his ears. How had he not noticed the demonstrators before today? Was he really that oblivious? Then again, maybe there was another explanation, one that was easier on his conscience. Maybe he hadn't noticed because the previous meetings had been in a different building, right on the edge of campus and conveniently adjacent to the public transporters.

Struck by a sudden impulse, Sisko tapped his comm badge and called, "Sisko to Julian Bashir."

There was no answer.

"Computer," Sisko asked the air, "what is the current location of Dr Julian Bashir?"

There was a pause, then the computer answered, "There is no current location available for Julian Bashir."

Sisko sighed. "Computer: what is the last recorded location for Dr Bashir?"

"Julian Bashir is currently billeted at the officers' barracks on the Starfleet Academy campus."

Sisko tried to call Julian at the barracks, but all he got there was a recorded message, saying that Julian Bashir was not in.

As he walked along the curved paths that meandered through Starfleet's well-maintained grounds, Sisko tried to tell himself that Julian's disappearance wasn't something he needed to worry about.

Then, as he passed one of the science buildings, the demonstrators came into view. The crowd was larger than he'd expected. He did a quick headcount and got to over fifty people before he gave up. It was hard to count accurately when the people in front blocked sight of the ones behind. Besides, he was too depressed by the number he'd already reached to want to count higher.

Some of the demonstrators were carrying placards. Unable to stop himself, Sisko paused to read them. One read, "Cashier Bashir!" Another said, "No Augments, No Exceptions." He also spotted, "No Nips!" There were even a couple that showed large red circles with lines through them, the circles superimposed over images of Julian's face.

A young man, probably somewhere between Jake's and Julian's ages, ran up to him. "Will you sign our petition?"

"Petition?"

"To get the Nip out of Starfleet and lock him up with the rest of his kind."

Sisko's face turned to stone. "No. I will not sign your petition! Do you even know anything about the person you're protesting about?"

"What's to know? He's unnatural. He doesn't belong here. My several times great granddaddy died on the Enterprise, fighting Khan. We don't want his kind running around loose!"

"Dr Bashir isn't anything like Khan!"

"Of course he is. He's an Augment, isn't he?"

There was nothing like a good stereotype to mislead. Sisko opened his mouth to argue, then decided against even trying to win an argument with the fanatic. Unless they knew Julian—really knew him, quirks, foibles and all—they'd never see him as more than an abstract to be despised and castigated.

How was Julian coping with this latest manifestation of hatred? Back on the station, he'd been driven into seclusion. Had the same thing happened here? At least back on the station, Julian had had friends to counteract all the negativity. Did he have anyone on Earth?

Sisko turned his back on the demonstrators. He felt his face slip into a frown. He should have checked on Julian as soon as he'd arrived on Earth. Instead, he'd hurried home to see his father, and, since then, he'd put spending time with family and friends ahead of checking up on his colleague. He wished he could drop everything now, but he was expected back in the conference room.

Later, he promised himself. He'd check on Julian as soon as the afternoon's meeting was over.

-=o=-

Julian's consciousness faded in and out. He felt terror clawing through his body. He was being pulled to his feet. There was a fist in his gut, but the people holding him wouldn't let him double over in pain. They held him upright and someone hit him again.

Why were they doing this? What was the point? Who were they?

Someone was talking, or were they gloating? He didn't know. The conversation had fragmented into a kaleidoscope of shards...disjointed words...disjointed voices.

He struggled to reassemble them into something coherent.

Past and present jumbled together, the heads of children superimposing themselves on adult bodies, the taunts crossing the years, high-pitched and childish, the deep voices of older, teenaged boys and men, the insults of women...

_Thick! Slow! Stupid! Retard! Moron! Wrong! Nip! Freak! Iq! Monster! Abomination!_

He tried to put his hands over his ears but his captors wouldn't let him, and he couldn't blot the insults out. They were in his head, in his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut, but he could still see their faces and feel their fists.

His head spun. When he caught a glimpse of his hands, he could see through his skin to the arteries, veins and capillaries beneath. He could see thousands upon thousands of corpuscles and platelets thundering through them. Too fast. They were moving too fast. He could hear the drum roll of his heart in his ears. His head was light.

Something was wrong. His mind was full of gaps and cotton wool, and for a moment it reminded him of how things used to be, a long time ago, back when he didn't understand, and his life had been a confusion of hurt and incomprehension. He lost the thought.

He fell to the ground and curled himself tightly into a ball. He was four years old again, or was he five, or ten, or fifteen, or thirty-one? He was nothing, and insults, kicks and punches rained down.

He was crying, tears and snot streaming down his face, and he wanted... He cried out... "Kukie! Kukalaka!"

And then he lost everything to a white fog of incomprehension before the world finally turned black.

-=o=-

Sisko struggled to concentrate on the afternoon's discussions, but his mind kept returning to Julian and to the demonstration. The chants of the protestors preyed on his mind as did the admirals' earlier comments. "He shouldn't be in Starfleet... Shiva Ghazi is right..." "He's just a Nip."

Telnorri's warnings echoed around Sisko's head, blending with O'Brien's request. "It's a wonder he copes as well as he does..." "Dr Bashir needs a better support network." "I just want to know he's all right..." "He sent me a message saying everything was fine...that can't be true."

Julian was an adult. A grown man. He should be capable of looking out for himself. He shouldn't need someone to do it for him.

But then...

Who needed to be looked after? Nonetheless, it was nice just sometimes for someone else to carry the load for a little while.

"...communications plan," said Fischer. "Don't you agree, Captain?"

What had they been talking about? What had he missed? Admiral Fischer's question was leading, and Sisko knew the answer he was expected to give. "Yes," he said, and he was relieved when Fischer turned his attention elsewhere. Fleetingly, Sisko wondered what he'd agreed to. Then his thoughts circled back to Julian.

Julian was used to being alone, and that was precisely why he needed to be shown that somebody cared. If Sisko didn't look out for Julian, who would?

As soon as this interminable nonsense of a meeting ended, Sisko would go and seek him out. Maybe he'd even take Julian back to New Orleans and get him to eat some gumbo.

-=o=-

The walk to the officers' barracks took Sisko past the demonstrators again. The intervening hours had done nothing to diminish the crowd's enthusiasm for shouting. Sisko would have thought—hoped—that all that chanting would have wrecked their vocal chords, but apparently not. Sisko was disheartened to see that their number had swollen since lunchtime. Most wore civilian clothing, but a few, he was disgusted to observe, were wearing Starfleet uniforms.

Sisko kept his eyes forward and strode past, determined not to give them the satisfaction of engaging with him again.

At the officers' quarters, Sisko headed over to the concierge's desk and asked to be put through to Julian's room.

"He's not here," the concierge said. "He went out yesterday, and he hasn't been back since."

"Then...where is he?"

"I've no idea, sir."

Sisko began to turn away, but the concierge called him back. "Sir... I don't know if it means anything, but someone left a message for Bashir yesterday morning, ordering him to report to Starfleet Medical."

"Starfleet Medical, huh? Well, I guess that at least gives me somewhere else to look. Thank you."

The concierge smiled. "You're welcome, sir."

Trying not to worry, Sisko walked out into the open air.

There were plenty of reasons why Julian might not have returned to his quarters. It wasn't as though he was under curfew. He could have run into an old friend. He could have hooked up with a woman. He might even have gone to visit his mother. But all those options seemed out of character for Julian, at least since he'd been outed.

Where was he?

-=o=-

The chanting of the demonstrators grew louder as Sisko approached Starfleet Medical's buildings. The noise grated on his nerves. No matter what Admiral Nechayev had been told, Sisko was sure that security could have done something about them if it wanted. If he hated them so much, how must Julian feel? So much antipathy, so much hatred, directed towards a single individual!

Stride long and purposeful, he walked into the cool foyer of the medical complex, and headed for the reception desk.

"Captain!" said the cadet on duty. "How may I help you?"

"I'm looking for Dr Julian Bashir. I was told that he might be here today."

The cadet frowned a little. "I haven't seen him, sir."

"Is there any possibility," asked Sisko, "that he came here yesterday and hasn't left yet?"

The cadet raised her eyebrows, indicating that she thought it most unlikely. Nonetheless, she said, "I'll check, sir."

She tapped and slid her fingers deftly over her computer interface, then she looked up at him in surprise. "Yes, sir. It seems he signed in yesterday morning, but there is no record of him leaving."

"He's not answering any communications. Any idea why that might be?"

She thought aloud. "The doctors usually deactivate their comm badges when they're in surgery, but that's more to avoid being distracted than for any other reason... There are a few pieces of equipment around which we ask that staff turn off any electronic devices, but..."

Impatient, Sisko cut through the cadet's ramblings. "So, records suggest that Dr Bashir is somewhere in this building, but you don't know where, or why he's not responding?"

She breathed out, appearing somewhat relieved at Sisko's grasp of the situation. "Yes, sir."

Sisko saw the cadet's attention catch on someone walking across the atrium. Then she said, "Captain, a moment..." She stood up, scuttled around the desk, and jogged across the atrium, calling as she went, "Doctor? Dr Loews?"

Sisko saw a woman stop and turn. He couldn't hear what the cadet said, but he saw her gesture in his direction, and the woman—Dr Loews—looked at him. Then, together, they began to walk towards him. Sisko moved to meet them.

The cadet said to Sisko, "Dr Loews has been working with Julian Bashir. I wondered whether she might know where he is."

"He was supposed to meet me this afternoon," said Loews. "He hasn't turned up and, frankly, I'm a little concerned. He's been very reliable up until now."

Sisko looked at the cadet and said, "Thank you for your help. I think we can take things from here."

"Aye, sir." The cadet headed back to her desk.

Sisko turned back to Loews, then said, "Maybe we should swap notes."

Loews nodded. "That sounds like a good idea."

They gravitated to some empty chairs, exchanging small talk and pleasantries as they went. Loews, Sisko gathered, had something of an advantage over him. Julian had obviously mentioned him, so Loews knew who he was, at least in general terms. By contrast, Sisko knew nothing about her, so she had to fill in a few details before he felt convinced of her credentials and that her interest was genuine.

"How _is_ Julian?" asked Sisko, as they sat down.

Loews seemed to consider her answer. Finally, she said, "He needs a break. He's been under too much pressure since he's been here, and probably for quite a while before that. He's done his best to be cooperative but, what with one thing and another... Those wretched demonstrators aren't helping. He can hear them, practically everywhere he goes, and they're the last thing he needs."

Sisko glanced at Loews's face. "You're worried about him," he said flatly. Apparently, O'Brien had been right to be concerned, and Sisko found himself wishing yet again that he'd bothered to follow up on the Chief's request sooner.

"Aren't you? You said you're his commanding officer, so I assume you know him well. You must know what kind of person he is, how this kind of...of...persecution...would affect him."

The conversation paused. Then Sisko said, "As far as I can gather, Julian came here yesterday morning and hasn't been seen since. So, where could he be?"

Loews frowned. "He wasn't supposed to be here yesterday. We even talked about it the night before."

"Apparently someone sent him a message, saying his presence was required."

"Who?"

"I don't know." Sisko thought for a moment or two, then he said, "Maybe whoever was on duty knows something."

"It's worth a try," agreed Loews.

Together, they walked back to the reception desk. The cadet looked up at them and said, "Sirs?"

Sisko asked, "Were you here yesterday morning?"

"No, sir."

"In that case, do you know how we can get in touch with whoever was on duty?"

"I'll find out who it was for you."

"Thank you."

Absentmindedly, Sisko drummed his fingers against the counter as the cadet consulted quickly with the computer terminal. Then she looked up and said, "Cadet Piotr Lesenko was rostered onto this desk yesterday. I can put a call through to him, if that would help?"

"Thank you, yes," said Sisko.

The cadet connected the call, then said, pointing, "You can take it at the terminal over there, sirs."

Moments later, as they spoke to a young man, Sisko and Loews found themselves leaning towards a screen, their heads so close that they almost touched. "Yes," said Piotr. He had a slight Russian accent, which made his words seem heavy and ponderous. "I remember him." He smiled faintly. "Given present circumstances, he's quite memorable."

"Did anything unusual happen when he arrived?"

Lesenko frowned and shook his head slightly. "Not unusual, exactly. But he said he'd been sent a message to meet Dr Tsonga, but he must have got the details wrong, because Commander Roughsedge said she'd been the one to summon him."

"Commander Roughsedge?" asked Sisko at the same time as Loews asked, "Who's she?"

The cadet said, "I'm not sure exactly, but she's been around a lot the last couple of weeks. I think she's got something to do with the recent increases in security."

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Sisko asked Loews, glancing at her.

"Find this Roughsedge, and perhaps we'll find Dr Bashir?"

"Yes," said Sisko.

Sisko hastily thanked Lesenko and ended the conversation. Then he tapped his comm badge and said, "Computer: location of Commander Roughsedge?"

"Commander Roughsedge is in Starfleet Medical on floor twelve, corridor five."

Sisko and Loews exchanged satisfied smiles and headed for the nearest turbolift.

-=o=-

The turbolift doors opened and Loews and Sisko stepped out. Sisko frowned and asked, "Why are there security officers here? I haven't seen any others, anywhere else in the building."

"No idea," answered Loews. "This floor isn't a high security area. Mostly it's just laboratories and holosuites used for teaching."

Sisko shrugged and led the way down the corridor. Nobody tried to stop them, but he could feel the eyes of the security personnel tracking his every move. He and Loews turned a corner. The sound of a raised voice hit their ears.

"...he's completely out of it. Ensign Johnson can't make any sense of the tricorder readings." The man's voice was high-pitched with anxiety.

"Take me to him." The second voice was female, imperious, and her tone indicated irritation, impatience and disdain.

"There's something seriously wrong," continued the man.

"Stop wittering! Show me."

Was it possible that they were talking about Julian? Sisko and Loews looked at each other. Then they picked up speed and rounded another corner. The speakers came into view. Taking a chance, Sisko called, "Commander Roughsedge?"

The woman turned around. "You can't be here," she replied angrily.

"Why not?"

"This is a restricted area."

"No, it's not," said Loews. Sisko agreed with her. If the area were restricted, then surely they wouldn't have been allowed to get this far.

"It is today," said Roughsedge.

"Oh?" said Sisko. "Why?"

"That's classified."

"This wouldn't have anything to do with Julian Bashir, would it?" said Sisko.

Roughsedge did a remarkable job of guarding her countenance. However the reaction of her junior companion gave them away. "Commander..." he said nervously, his eyes wide.

"Yes, yes," she said impatiently. "Computer: doors!"

A set of holosuite doors opened, and she and the ensign went inside. Sisko and Loews dodged in after them.

Roughsedge turned on them and protested again. "You can't come in here."

"We obviously can, because we already did," said Sisko.

"Like I said, this is a restricted area. It's classified."

"It's a holosuite!" said Loews. "What's so classified about that?"

But Sisko was registering the details of the programme. Three Jem'Hadar and a Vorta were frozen in time and three more mustard-clad Starfleet officers were chattering agitatedly...and he thought he was beginning to understand.

Raised voices floated around them. "These readings! They're insane! They're meaningless!"

"It's him! He's not properly human, so of course his readings'll be different."

"No. He's still close enough to human that nobody ever noticed that he wasn't. He would never have been admitted into Starfleet otherwise."

"The tricorder must be wrong!"

"Of course it's not wrong. It's him that's wrong!"

"Commander!" demanded the panicked man from the corridor, sounding even more worried than before.

"What is this place?" Loews asked Sisko quietly, as they followed the commander through the frozen programme.

Sisko said grimly, "If I'm not mistaken, we're in a Dominion prison camp."

"What? _Why?_"

"That's what I would like to know."

"Let me see him," demanded Roughsedge, and the Starfleet personnel fell silent as they stepped aside to reveal a figure huddled in a corner, knees to chest, and head in his hands.

Roughsedge looked down on the figure, snapped, "Bashir!" and, when she didn't get any reaction, she bowed down to take a closer look. She poked and prodded him, then nudged his head so she could see his face. "What the—?" said Roughsedge to herself.

Then she straightened up and swung round to Loews and, all objections to their presence suddenly forgotten, she said, "You a doctor?"

"Yes," said Loews.

"Then tell us what's wrong with him!"

Loews nodded and grabbed the tricorder from the hapless officer who'd been unable to understand it. Sisko followed two paces behind.

While Loews pointed the tricorder at Julian, Sisko stared down at him. Then, in tandem, they both moved to crouch next to him. Sisko placed a hand on Julian's shoulder. "Doctor?" he said. Then, when he too got no response, he tried again. "Julian?"

When Julian still failed to respond, Sisko lifted Julian's chin with his fingers. Julian's face was scraped and was beginning to swell in places. His eyes looked huge, his pupils dilated. His expression was one of glazed incomprehension, and Sisko could see that Julian's considerable wits had been scattered.

"Well?" Sisko asked. He tried to blot out the background noise of Roughsedge angrily castigating her junior colleagues as he concentrated on Loews.

The deep crease that carved itself between Loews's eyes did nothing to reassure him. Then she began to speak. "He's got multiple contusions and abrasions...hairline fracture of the radius...two cracked ribs...concussion...traces of a sedative, and his body is awash with— My God!"

"What? What is it, Doctor?" Sisko demanded, picking up on her shock.

She waved him off, muttering. Then she looked around and said accusingly to Roughsedge, "You overdosed him with kenfitamol!"

Suddenly Roughsedge sounded less angry and more uncertain. "I can't have!"

"Then how do you account for this?" Loews waved her tricorder at Julian. "His body is awash with chemicals and he's in toxic shock!"

"How long has he been in here?" demanded Sisko.

"Since yesterday."

"Yesterday, when?"

"Ten hundred hours."

Sisko ground his teeth. Julian had been in the holosuite for over thirty hours, trapped in a nightmare of someone else's devising.

"It wouldn't have been so long," Roughsedge said defensively, "but he didn't react as predicted."

Sisko glared at her while Loews continued to work. "Meaning what, exactly?" he asked.

"The sedative shouldn't have knocked him out for so long and the kenfitamol ought to have made him more suggestible. He shouldn't have been able to see through the scenario when he woke up."

Loews glanced up, appalled. "So, what did you do? Give him more of the kenfitamol?"

"Yes."

"You idiots! You're lucky he isn't dead!"

"But he was coherent! The drug wasn't effective in normal doses!"

"So you, what, quadrupled the standard dose?"

"Yes."

"Are you qualified to make that judgement? You're not a doctor! You know nothing about his physiology or about how the drug works!" Loews tapped her comm badge. "Dr Loews to Casualty intake!"

The badge cheeped and died.

"We disabled all unauthorised communications in and out of this 'suite," said Roughsedge. "You can't take him out of here."

"Are you going to stop me? Unless you want me to file a manslaughter charge against you, you'll enable the comms again, now!"

Something in the intensity of Loews's tone or her rapid-fire words finally got through to Roughsedge, who said, "Computer: release communications!"

"Communications released," said the computer.

Loews tapped her comm badge again, got connected to the medical facility, and requested emergency transportation.

"I'm coming with you," said Sisko.

Loews acknowledged him with a nod, then launched into an incomprehensible stream of medicalese.

Long seconds later, the computer broke into Loews's flow and said, "Prepare for transport...transport initiated."

Sisko materialised to find himself in a large white room, full of noise and practised bustle. A Vulcan doctor and two human nurses, all dressed in loose-fitting teal scrubs, pushed their way past to gain access to their patient.

The Vulcan began conversing with Loews. Sisko understood only about one word in five: overdose; concussion; heart; pulse; unresponsive; counteragent... As they talked, the two doctors and the nurses lifted Julian onto a biobed and rolled him onto his back. They pulled the tops of his jumpsuit and turtleneck open to expose his neck and began injecting him with a series of hyposprays.

Sisko watched anxiously from a safe distance, and prayed the medical staff knew what they were doing. The pace of their activity scared him, their combined body language screaming urgency.

Eventually, however, their voices slowed and quietened, and their movements became more measured. Even Sisko, who was no expert, could see that the cardio-monitor on the diagnostic panel was reporting a more normal heartbeat than previously.

The immediate crisis over, the Vulcan doctor turned around towards Sisko and introduced himself. "Hello. My name is Healer Storak."

Sisko tilted his head slightly in greeting and said, "Captain Sisko." Then he gestured towards the biobed. "How's he doing?"

Revealing an unexpected knowledge of colloquial Federation Standard, Storak said, "He's out of the woods. Now we've counteracted the kenfitamol and dealt with his concussion, we can tackle the rest of the physical damage to his body."

Sisko nodded.

"What happened to him?" asked Storak. "It looks as though he's been the subject of an assault, and quite a nasty one at that."

"I don't know what happened," said Sisko. "We found him in a holosuite."

"No holoprogramme did this, not unless the safeties were switched off and the holograms were programmed to commit grievous bodily harm."

Sisko sucked on his lower lip and kept his thoughts to himself.

"Intake to Healer Storak."

Storak tapped his comm badge. "Storak here. What is it?"

"We've a report of an emergency coming in: runabout crash. Multiple injured. Can you assist?"

Loews said, "It's all right. I'll take this from here."

Storak tilted his head in acknowledgement. "Thank you. Nurse Reynaud will stay to assist."

"Thank you," said Loews.

Storak and the other nurse left, already focussing on their next patients.

Loews quickly used a dermal regenerator to deal with the bruises and abrasions on Julian's face, then she glanced across at Sisko and said, "Captain? Can you give us a hand?"

Sisko went over and helped the others undress Julian so that Loews could mend his ribs and wrist.

"Help me turn him," said Loews, and, between them, she, the nurse and Sisko rolled Julian onto his side so that Loews could check his back. Her sharp intake of breath made Sisko move to see what had shocked her.

"My God! What are those?" exclaimed Sisko.

Together they looked at the two sets of scars that marred Julian's back. "They aren't new," said Loews thoughtfully. "They're recent, but they aren't new. And it doesn't look as though they were treated properly."

Sisko forced himself to look at the discoloured mass of uneven flesh. Tightly, he said, "How old, do you think?"

"Like I said, recent. They're weeks old, not months."

Sisko sighed. That meant that they either dated from Julian's time with the Dominion, or since, on Deep Space Nine. Both possibilities were appalling, but for different reasons. Sisko hoped that the Dominion was responsible...but he knew that Julian had been attacked on the station.

"They're too extensive for me to do anything with here," said Loews. She healed the last of his bruises, then straightened. "That's it. I'm done. Let's get him dressed again."

When they'd finished, Sisko looked down at Julian and said, "What now?"

Loews shrugged slightly. "Now? We wait." She looked at Sisko. "He'll be all right, Captain. He'll wake up soon. We got to him in time."

"This time."

"Yes. He was lucky."

"What the hell happened?"

Sisko's question was rhetorical, but Loews tried to answer it anyway. "As near as I can tell, he was able to control the kenfitamol's effect on his brain functions, so Roughsedge's people thought the drug was ineffective, or perhaps, because he'd been unconscious for so long, they thought that it was wearing off by the time he woke up. What they didn't realise was that it was still affecting him physically, so they overdosed him." With feeling, she said, "Bloody idiots!" Then, more calmly, she added, "After he wakes up, he'll still need to be monitored for a few hours."

"Will he need to stay in hospital?"

Loews said, "I don't think so, just so long as someone's with him, and can call for help if necessary. I don't foresee any problems, but..."

Sisko nodded. "Right, then. I'll take him."

"Where?"

"Home."

"Thank you," she said, sounding relieved. "If you hadn't, I'd have taken him myself, but I live on site at the Institute."

"The Institute?"

"It's a psychiatric facility up in Washington State." She sighed. "The last thing he needs to is wake up there. It's the kind of place that he has nightmares about."

"He has nightmares?"

"You didn't know?"

"Well, I guessed he might, after being captured by the Dominion, but—"

Loews shook her head. "No. These date back to when he found out he was enhanced. Ever since, he's dreaded people finding out and locking him away."

"I knew he was afraid of being locked up, but even so..."

"You might think that his fears aren't very rational, now he's an adult, but they've haunted him since he was a teenager. And, just so you understand, back then, he had every reason to be frightened."

A moan truncated the conversation, and Sisko and Loews turned their attention to Julian. Sisko was relieved to see that some vague awareness was returning to his eyes.

"Julian..." Sisko said.

"...Captain? Where..."

"You're in hospital."

"What...doing...here?"

"You've been hurt. Don't you remember?"

Julian's attempt to shake his head resulted in little more than a twitch of movement. "No...meant...you. Why...you here?"

"I came to find you."

"Oh..."

"And I'm going to get you out of here."

"Out...?"

"Yes. When you're ready."

Julian's eyes drifted closed, giving the lie to his next words. "'M ready now."


	9. Chapter 9

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** I appreciate every person who reads, reviews, follows and favourites. Thank you for your continued interest in this story, which I find both reassuring and encouraging.

-=o=-

**Chapter Nine**

Sisko and Loews took Julian to New Orleans.

Sisko thought that maybe they should have given Julian longer to recover before they tried to move him, and that suspicion grew as it became apparent just how much help Julian needed while he was being relocated. However, neither Sisko nor Loews had wanted to leave him alone in Medical's clutches for a moment longer than was necessary.

By the time the three of them materialised in the alley behind Sisko's restaurant, the only things keeping Julian upright were Loews's and Sisko's arms around his waist and their hold on his arms, which they'd slung around their shoulders.

Together, Loews and Sisko half-dragged Julian towards the kitchen door. Sisko cried out, "Dad! Nathan! I need help out here!"

"Benjamin?" Joseph's voice echoed out from within the building, closely followed by the man himself. He took one look at the threesome and said, "What the hell...?"

"Help us get him inside."

Nathan appeared at Joseph's shoulder and pushed past. He took over from Loews, wrapping Julian's arm around his own neck and taking a firm hold on Julian's waist.

Joseph sized up the situation and said, "C'mon. Let's get him upstairs."

"It's all right. You'll be safe now," said Sisko.

"Safe...?" whispered Julian. Sisko wasn't sure whether Julian couldn't compute the word at all or whether he simply couldn't understand how it could possibly apply to him. Either would have been understandable under the circumstances.

Between them, with Joseph opening doors and clearing a path in front, and Loews bringing up the rear, Sisko and Nathan managed to navigate their way through the kitchen and the restaurant—empty this late in the evening—and into the hallway beyond.

At the foot of the stairs, they stopped for a breather, and Sisko sat Julian down on the second from bottom step. He crouched down and placed one of his hands on Julian's left knee. He peered into Julian's eyes and said, "You hanging in there?"

Julian's head twitched a fraction, either in agreement or a loll he couldn't control. Then he said, "Gonna be...sick..."

"Bowl! Now!" barked Sisko, and moments later, as Julian began to heave, someone thrust a large mixing bowl into Sisko's hands. Sisko held it as close as he could to Julian's mouth as he retched.

And retched.

And retched.

Joseph edged past Julian and settled himself on the stairs behind him. He began to rub Julian's back soothingly, and Nathan said reassuringly, "There! I bet that feels better out than in!"

Julian gave no sign of understanding. Instead he groaned and retched some more.

Loews crouched down in front of him and scanned him with her tricorder. "Can someone get him some water? We need to keep him hydrated."

Nathan disappeared on the errand. When he came back, Loews took the glass from him and waited for the latest bout of retching to stop.

The spasms reached deep into Julian's body, trying to find something else to bring up. Sisko winced in sympathy, and he found himself having to hold the contents of his own stomach in as his body reacted to the smell of Julian's vomit.

Although Julian retched a few more times, his heaves finally petered out as his body recognised that his stomach was already empty and there was nothing else to bring up.

"The vomiting," said Sisko. "Should we be worried? It's not anything to do with his concussion, is it?"

Loews shook her head. "No. We dealt with that, back at the hospital." But she pointed her tricorder at Julian, and Sisko got the distinct impression that she was making sure. Satisfied, she said, "It's just his body's way of getting rid of toxins."

"I thought you'd done that, too," said Sisko.

"We did, at least as far as we could. But sometimes the body does a better job of looking after itself than we doctors can."

"Oh. So he's all right?"

Sisko moved the bowl away from Julian and was grateful when Nathan took it from him.

Loews tried to give the glass to Julian, but he didn't seem to understand what she wanted. Either that, or he couldn't persuade his hands to cooperate. Loews held the glass to his lips and said, "Come on. Small sips. It'll clean your mouth out and make you feel better."

Either by reflex or by choice, Julian managed to drink, with only a small amount of liquid missing his mouth and dribbling down his chin. When he stopped swallowing, Loews removed the glass and put it down on the floor behind her. Then she rested her palm on Julian's forehead. Sisko had seen the sweat beaded on Julian's brow and he waited, frowning, for Loews's verdict.

She looked up at Sisko and said, "He's cold and clammy. We need to get him warmed up."

Sisko and Nathan managed to coax Julian to his feet. Then they wrapped Julian's arms around their necks and laced their hands to form a seat. Together, they carried him up to the second floor, to the room that Sisko thought of as Jake's.

The bedroom was crowded with five people in it, but somehow they all managed to squeeze in and coordinate their activities. Joseph pulled back the covers, and Sisko and Nathan sat Julian on the edge of the bed. Then Sisko set about pulling Julian's boots off and getting him out of his jumpsuit, helping to undress him for the second time that day. He handed each item to Joseph as he went. When Julian was undressed of everything other than his briefs, Joseph and Nathan made their retreat, taking Julian's dirty clothes with them. The last thing Joseph said, as he left the room, was, "I'll get this lot cleaned."

Loews scanned Julian with the medical tricorder again, while Sisko eased him down onto the mattress. Julian's eyes had glazed over, and Sisko wondered whether he was even aware of what was going on. Sisko pulled the bedcovers up. Then, of his own volition, Julian rolled over onto his side, pulled his knees up close to his chest and fisted handfuls of sheet, pulling it tightly around him.

Finally, when Loews was satisfied that Julian's slow, steady breaths meant that he was asleep, she looked at Sisko and nodded reassuringly.

Joseph reappeared, this time alone. "Nathan's finishing the clean-up downstairs." He looked down at his unexpected houseguest.

Sisko said, "I guess you want an explanation."

"If you can give me one," said Joseph.

"His name's Julian. He works on Deep Space Nine." Sisko took a deep breath. "Julian's been having a rough time lately, so when my meetings finished, I thought I'd go check on him...see how he was doing. And I found him... Well, you saw for yourself. I don't know what the hell they did to him!"

"Who?"

"Starfleet Medical. Or Starfleet Security. I'm still not entirely sure which."

"It wasn't Medical," said Loews.

Sisko didn't quite believe her. At the very least, someone in Medical had to have helped to set the scenario up, someone who knew about Julian's schedule, even if it wasn't Loews. "Someone left Julian a message saying that Medical wanted to put him through some test or other. But what I found... It wasn't like any test I've ever heard of before. And Dr Loews here said she knew nothing about it, even though she's in charge of Julian's case."

"And you couldn't leave him there."

Joseph's words weren't quite a question, but Sisko found himself answering anyway. "No. I mean, look at him!"

Just then, Julian began to twitch in his sleep. Dreams, thought Sisko, and not pleasant ones, judging from the way Julian's face was contorting. Loews sat down on the edge of the bed and gently stroked his shoulder, whispering almost nonsensical words of reassurance. They seemed to do the trick, and Julian settled down again.

This time, when Loews scanned him, she nodded with satisfaction. "He's doing a lot better," she said. "More than anything, what he needs now is rest, and lots of it. His bloods are more or less back to normal. There are still some traces of the kenfitamol in his system so you'll need to keep an eye on him; there may be some side effects."

"What kind of side effects?" asked Sisko.

"Dreams, usually surreal in nature. In extreme cases, patients who've suffered overdoses have reported hallucinations, sometimes for months afterwards." Loews took in Sisko's silence and interpreted it correctly as worry. "He might be fine, Captain. I'm just telling you what to look out for. Also, you should know, the levels of cortisol and dopamine in his body are still through the roof."

"That's bad?"

"It's not good."

"Can't you do anything to help?"

"Not really. His hormone levels don't have anything to do with whatever Security did to him, although that certainly won't have helped. Rather, they're an indicator of how much stress he's been under, and for how long."

"What do you mean?"

Loews sighed. "When the body is put under stress, it reacts first by producing adrenaline—the classic fight or flight response. Then, after a while, if a person is under chronic stress, it produces cortisol and dopamine. The only way to solve the problem is to reduce his stress levels."

Sisko sighed. "I don't see that happening any time soon."

"No," agreed Loews. "But having him here... Showing him that someone cares... That'll help."

Sisko nodded.

Loews stood up. "Do you want me to stay? Or can you take it from here?"

Sisko exchanged glances with his father. Then Sisko looked down at Julian and said, "I think we can manage from here."

Loews said. "Let him sleep. And call me. Any time. If you have any problems."

"We will," said Sisko gravely.

-=o=-

Sisko stayed with Julian through the night, sitting and occasionally dozing in an armchair next to the bed. When Julian tossed and turned and whimpered, Sisko fell back on techniques he'd used on Jake when Jake was younger. He rubbed Julian's back, spoke gently, and soothed him back to sleep.

Nightmares, Loews had said. Now he remembered. Back in the early days on Deep Space Nine, Sisko and Julian, along with other members of the senior staff, had been trapped in an alien game. Julian had yelled and shouted, and had said something about how he'd used to scream himself out of his nightmares. Sisko had thought it absurd at the time, and he'd been more irritated than sympathetic.

Looking back, he wished he'd paid more attention. Why had he never wondered what Julian had nightmares about?

Had that been the first time he'd failed Julian?

After he'd banished Belen Amoruso from Deep Space Nine and made his pronouncements, Sisko had assumed everything would be all right, and, in spite of his earlier good intentions, he'd left the small matter of Julian's wellbeing in the hands of others. Sisko hadn't paid attention. He'd left that to O'Brien and Jadzia, thinking they'd give Julian all the support he needed. Sisko had occupied himself with other matters: the Dominion; the upcoming war...

He hadn't even considered checking on Julian while he was on Earth until O'Brien had suggested it. What did that say about him? Then, once he'd arrived, he'd put off seeking Julian out, satisfying his personal desires first.

Sisko looked across at Julian and thought about the day's events.

If only he'd checked on Julian sooner! He could, at the very least, have shortened Julian's suffering. Maybe he could have prevented the younger man's torture altogether. He'd failed Julian. Over and over again. Some commanding officer he'd turned out to be!

Julian had been under pressure for too long. It was all very well saying that facing adversity built character, or whatever didn't kill you made you stronger, but on that basis Julian should have had his character built to Mount Everest-sized proportions, and he should by now be one of the strongest men alive. Sisko didn't see it. What he saw was a man beaten down and abused because of circumstances over which he had no control.

How much more could Julian take?

-=o=-

Julian woke up to a not-quite pitch night. His heart rate spiked when he realised that he'd, yet again, woken up in a strange place. The last thing he remembered, not entirely clearly, was leaving Starfleet Medical and, later, being sick. Had Sisko been there? That didn't make sense...

He turned his head and saw Captain Sisko slumped in an armchair next to his bed.

He felt a breeze, heard rain, and smelled the petrichor.

Petrichor...the smell that accompanies rain after a long period of warm, dry weather... Funny how holoprogrammes never could get its sweetness quite right...

This, wherever this was, was real, and, for reasons Julian couldn't understand, the captain was with him.

Maybe he didn't know where he was, but at least he wasn't alone.

Julian let his eyes close and his body succumb to exhaustion.

-=o=-

"How has your week been?" asked Mei-Lin Ghazi-Fahid, leaning over to peck Fahid on the cheek.

"I'm not sure," said Fahid. "Your father's going after Bashir. Apparently going after the anti-Augment vote is a win-win situation."

"Oh," said Mei-Lin sombrely. "If he even finds out about—"

"Quite so. My career would be over."

She sighed. "Then we'll just have to make sure he never learns the truth, won't we?"

-=o=-

His father's touch on his shoulder and the tantalising smell of coffee woke Sisko up. "Oh..." he groaned, stretching to ease the crick in his neck. "What time is it?"

"Eight o'clock."

Sisko grunted. The time difference with San Francisco meant he had plenty of time to get washed and ready for his first meeting of the day.

Joseph nodded his head in Julian's direction and whispered, "How is he?"

"Better. He had a rough night, but he's sleeping peacefully now."

Together they looked down at Julian. Sometime during the small hours, he'd unfurled himself, so that now he sprawled across the bed. He looked relaxed and, with the worries of recent weeks erased from his face, impossibly young. He reminded Sisko of how he'd looked when he'd first arrived on Deep Space Nine: fresh-faced and carefree.

Only that had been an illusion, hadn't it? Even then, Julian had carried the worries of the world on his back, and nobody had known.

"How old is he?" asked Joseph.

Sisko thought for a moment. Time had a tendency to pass almost unnoticed. When had Julian's thirtieth birthday been? Last year? The year before? "Thirty-one or -two. Something like that," Sisko said.

"He doesn't look it."

"No... Let's leave him."

"You shower, and I'll have breakfast ready by the time you come down."

Ten minutes later, Sisko sat down to a generous fry up that helped him to forget that he hadn't eaten the evening before. He chewed a mouthful of bacon and egg, swallowed, sighed contentedly, and then said, "Would you mind if he stays here for a while?"

"Of course I don't mind."

"Thanks, Dad. I'll arrange for his things to be transported over."

Joseph nodded. Then he said, "Is there anything we need to watch out for?"

Sisko shook his head. "I hope not. Dr Loews said he needed to be monitored last night, but I think he should be okay by now. If you have any problems, just call me. Or her."

"What do you want me to do with him, when he wakes up?"

"It won't do any harm to try to talk to him, although I don't know how much he'll tell you. My guess is not a lot. But Julian's a good man, and any problems he's having at the moment are not of his making. If in doubt, treat him like one of the family. Put him to work in the kitchen. I doubt he'll complain, and it will do him good to keep busy."

-=o=-

Julian woke up feeling rested for the first time in what seemed like eons. He stretched, rolled over and blinked his eyes open. The bedroom was bathed in sunlight and unfamiliar street sounds drifted in through an open window.

The captain was gone, but some very familiar bags had been left on the chair where Sisko had spent the night. Somehow, all Julian's possessions had been removed from the officers' barracks in San Francisco and brought here, wherever here was.

Julian got up. He checked the contents of his bags, breathed a sigh of relief that Kukalaka was safe, and then he set about exploring the room.

The window revealed that he was on an upper floor of an old-fashioned townhouse, one of many that lined both sides of a street. Julian found his uniform freshly cleaned and folded on top of a chest of drawers. The furnishings, allied to the lack of personal possessions, suggested to Julian that he was in someone's spare room.

He found three doors. The first opened onto a landing, the second accessed a cupboard, and the third led to a bathroom. Julian gathered up his uniform, found some fresh underwear in one of his bags, and went into the latter, deciding that, once he was presentable, he'd explore the rest of the building.

-=o=-

Julian went onto the landing and down the stairs, several of which creaked under his weight, testimony, he decided, to the building's age. He discovered that the ground floor was taken up by a restaurant, and that gave him his first real clue as to where he might be. He peered around the door, then ventured into the dining room. He was spotted by an older man, who greeted him warmly. "Well, hello! You've woken up, I see. How are you feeling?"

"All right, I think."

"You don't sound very sure. But that's probably not surprising. You were pretty out of it when you arrived last night."

Julian nodded. "I don't remember very much, I'm afraid. Who are you? And where am I?"

The old man smiled, a broad smile that flashed white teeth in his dark face. "I'm Joseph Sisko, Benjamin's father. You're in my house, in New Orleans," he said, confirming Julian's suspicions. "And you're...Julian?"

Julian nodded. "Yes. Julian Bashir." He tentatively held out his right hand, and felt himself relax a little when Joseph unhesitatingly took it. Joseph's skin was warm and dry and hardened by work.

"You're one of Benjamin's officers?"

"Yes."

Joseph eyed Bashir's uniform. "Lieutenant. Scientist, right?"

"Doctor, actually. At least..." He trailed off.

"At least...?" asked Joseph invitingly.

Julian shook his head. "Nothing," he said, not feeling up to explaining his nebulous professional status.

"You must be famished! Sit down, and I'll fix you some breakfast."

"Please, don't go to any trouble on my account."

Joseph quirked an eyebrow. "It's no trouble, young man. And I know for a fact that you haven't eaten in at least a day. So, you sit, and I'll cook." He pointed to a table close to the kitchen counter. "And, before you tell me that you have somewhere else to be, let me tell you, you don't. I've got a message for you: Dr Loews says you're to take it easy, she doesn't expect to see you today, and she'll be in touch. Oh, and Ben will be home this evening, and he'll talk to you then."

Julian nodded and decided that Joseph Sisko was a force of nature. Now he knew where Sisko got his air of command from. He sat down and watched as Joseph set a frying pan on to warm and gathered up various ingredients. As the smells of hot oil and frying bacon and eggs drifted into the dining area, Julian realised that Joseph had been right about one thing: he _was_ famished. The last time he'd eaten anything had been the morning before yesterday.

Joseph put a plate down in front of Julian and handed him a knife and a fork. "Tea? Coffee? Juice?" he asked.

"Um, tea, please," said Julian.

"Coming right up."

Joseph disappeared back into the kitchen and Julian dug into the food. This wasn't his usual scones and jam, but at that moment, nothing could have been better.

Julian looked up as Joseph put down a mug. His lips twitched in an almost-smile, and he said, "Thank you, sir."

"Sir?" asked Joseph with a laughing gasp. "I'm not in Starfleet. You can call me Joseph, like everyone else here does."

Julian felt unsure, but he nodded agreement anyway. "Joseph, then."

Joseph eyed Julian's now empty plate. "Have you had enough to eat, or would you like something else?"

"I'm fine, thank you. That was great."

"Good. Now, let me show you around, then you can get started."

"Started?" asked Julian.

"Ben said to treat you like one of the family. All the Siskos help with preparing food for the restaurant. We'll have you chopping, dicing, slicing, scrubbing and shelling like a pro before you know it! Now, how are you with a paring knife?"

"What's a paring knife?"

Joseph's eyes widened in comical dismay. He placed a hand over his heart and mimed being in pain. "You don't know what a paring knife is?"

Julian shook his head. "I've never prepared food before. Until I met the captain, I'd never even met anyone who prepared real food if they didn't have to."

"Really? How did your parents feed you, when you were growing up?"

Julian stiffened at the mention of his parents. "We had replicators," he muttered.

Joseph grimaced with disapproval.

"They were always top of the range," said Julian.

"It's still not the same as real food."

"Isn't it? Replicated food has all the same nutrients, and the chemical composition is the same. And you never have to worry about bacteria or about things spoiling."

"Yes, but... Why have something manufactured when you can have the real thing? All that technology gets in the way of what nature intended."

Julian pursed his lips, ducked his head, and said nothing. Given what his parents had had done to him, Julian didn't think they were the kind of people to worry about the distinction between nature and manufacture.

Joseph exaggerated a sigh, and said, "Come on. Let me give you the grand tour."

There wasn't a huge amount to see. The restaurant was split into two seating areas. The kitchen had a hatch that linked it to an indoor area and a counter that opened onto a patio.

Joseph was just coming to the end of the tour when the front door opened and a voice called out, "Morning, Joseph!"

"Morning, yourself!" Joseph waved Julian back into the restaurant area and made introductions. "This is Nathan. He's my sous chef. Nathan, meet Julian. He's going to help out today."

Nathan held out a hand. "Pleasure to meet you." Julian noticed that Nathan's smile was almost as wide and warm as Joseph's had been.

-=o=-

Julian might have started from a point of zero knowledge, but he picked things up quickly. Not only did he need to be told what to do only once, but he was also adept at putting his new knowledge into practice. Plus, he proved to be dextrous when it came to chopping.

He wasn't sure how much of his accuracy stemmed from his surgical training, during which he'd had drummed into him the need to pay meticulous attention to detail whenever he diced and sliced, and how much came from his enhanced hand-eye coordination.

Whatever the reason, the result was that Julian peeled and chopped vegetables quickly and well enough to impress Joseph and Nathan, both of whom commented approvingly on the uniformity of the pieces he produced.

Julian was working his way through a large basin of okra when Joseph decided to strike up a conversation. "You have any family?" he asked. "Brothers? Sisters?"

"No," said Julian, concentrating on the okra. He didn't object to getting his hands dirty, but even he had to admit that the slimy contents of the seedpods weren't very pleasant to deal with. At least when he was doing surgery, he wore gloves to separate his skin and nerve endings from less than savoury substances and sensations. "I'm an only child."

"Uncles? Aunts? Cousins?"

"No. Only my parents." The conversation was making him uncomfortable.

"I can't imagine what that would be like."

Julian shrugged a shoulder, partly in an attempt to appear nonchalant but mostly to relax his muscles. "If it's all you ever know, then it's normal."

"I think I'd be lonely," said Nathan, joining in. "I can't imagine not having all those family gatherings, all those big holiday get-togethers that we all moan about, but that we all secretly love. Who did you celebrate those with, if you didn't have family?"

"We weren't big on holidays," said Julian. Shrugging hadn't helped, and he wished they could talk about something else.

"Birthdays?"

"Jadzia organised a party for my thirtieth, back on DS9. That was fun." It had been, he remembered, and the memory of that evening's happiness pained him now.

"Who's Jadzia?" asked Nathan.

"A friend."

"Girlfriend?" Nathan waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Julian shook his head. "No. Just a friend."

"You got a girlfriend?"

"No."

"Boyfriend?"

"No."

"Where are you from?" asked Joseph. "Earth? Or off-world?"

Julian glanced up from his work. "Earth. England, originally. Although we moved around quite a lot when I was growing up."

"So, where are your parents now?"

"Here. On Earth."

"How come you're staying with the Siskos, then?" asked Nathan.

"It's...complicated," said Julian evasively, unsure himself exactly what the answer to that question was.

"Will you at least visit your folks while you're here?" Joseph asked. Julian wondered why he sounded so concerned.

"I... I'll try. But it might not be all that easy. It depends."

"On what?"

With reluctance, Julian said, as he cleaned the last seedpod, "My father's in prison. In New Zealand. I contacted the facility to arrange a visit, but I'm still waiting to hear when I can see him." He finally managed to end the conversation by asking, "What do you want me to do next?"

-=o=-

Sisko couldn't decide whether the morning's meeting was more fractious than normal or whether he was more intolerant. He hadn't had much sleep, and he felt irritable, his emotions bubbling close to the surface. He knew that he was more impatient than usual, but even so...

The discussion went round and round in circles, and nothing was resolved. He hoped he never got promoted! He had to deal with enough politics in his current job; the thought of having to deal with this kind of dross on a daily basis was both terrifying and depressing.

Sisko tried to concentrate on what Admiral Fischer was saying—something about the need for innovative approaches to intelligence gathering.

While Fischer might have had a point, his arguments seemed to lack specifics, and nothing the Federation had could match the Changeling's skills for infiltration. Sisko thought about Julian's doppelganger, of how that Changeling had remained undetected for over a month, and he felt compelled to voice his scepticism.

Fischer bristled with annoyance at Sisko's interruption. Nechayev sighed, and Commander Petterson said, "With all due respect, Captain, now is not the time for negativity. If we are to avoid panic, we need to send out a positive message to our citizens."

"With all due respect, Commander," said Sisko, articulating his words clearly and slowly, and with more bite than he'd intended, "we need to convey a _realistic_ message to allow people to prepare themselves for what's coming. We can't afford to be complacent."

"Which is precisely why we need that new approach!" snapped Fischer.

Sisko tapped his fingers against the tabletop, earning himself a chastising glare from Nechayev. He forced himself to still his hands and rest them, palms down, against the flat surface.

He managed not to ask any more questions, and was happy when Nechayev asked some for herself. "Do you have anything definite in mind? Or are you just spouting good intentions?"

Fischer flashed displeased glances at everyone around the table. "I have some ideas, but they're works in progress at present. And, for security's sake, I want them to remain classified, not grist for your PR mill." The latter words, directed at the two commanders, were said with enough animosity that Sisko found himself having to suppress a rueful and sympathetic smile. For the first time, he wondered whether he and Fischer might share some common ground.

-=o=-

The restaurant opened for lunch, and the morning banter gave way to quick fire commands and admonitions not to get underfoot. Joseph met and greeted his customers while sharing the cooking with Nathan. The waiters fetched, carried and cleared, and Julian found himself mesmerised by the choreography of it all.

By two-thirty, the rush was over, and Joseph closed up for the afternoon. He told everyone that he was going to run down to the docks to get some shellfish for that evening's special, and he recommended that they ate some of the gumbo for lunch.

Nathan and the waiters helped themselves to the food, then they gravitated to the table closest to the kitchen hatch.

Julian carried his meal through the kitchen and went outside, into the back alley. He sat on the doorstep, turned his head up towards the sky and closed his eyes so that he could enjoy the feel of the sun on his face.

He remembered once reading something about the twentieth-century submariners, and how, after several months underwater, people would mistake their pallor for illness when they finally came ashore.

Life on space stations and starships was similar, although, these days, better lighting and holosuites helped compensate for the lack of sun. Nonetheless, Julian was aware that his face and hands had tanned since he'd arrived on Earth.

Then Julian turned his thoughts back to his current situation. He had assumed that Sisko would have told Joseph about him, but Joseph didn't show any signs of being aware of Julian's background. Was he ignoring it? Did he not care? Or did he not know?

Based partly on his recent experiences and partly on Joseph's opinions about manufactured food being inferior to anything nature could produce, Julian didn't believe that Joseph would have been so friendly had he known exactly who—what—was staying with him, so he deduced that Sisko hadn't told him. But, if Sisko hadn't mentioned it, why not? Did he expect Julian to volunteer the information? Or did he expect Julian to keep quiet, too?

Did it matter?

Julian wasn't sure. It felt unfair to keep Joseph in the dark. He'd opened his house to Julian. That being the case, didn't he deserve to know the truth?

And yet... Julian didn't want to have that conversation. He was enjoying today's fiction, the pretence that everything, himself included, was normal. He didn't want to have to deal with the inevitable fall-out, when Joseph and the others found out. He couldn't face the questions or—worse—the silence, the assumptions, or the whispers. He decided to keep his head down and keep his own counsel, and he resolved to ask Sisko about it, come evening.

-=o=-

Sisko decided to go for a walk at lunchtime, needing to get away from the oppressive atmosphere of the conference room.

What he'd hoped would be a leisurely stroll became an angry stomp as he processed the details of the morning's complete and utter waste of time!

Then he came face-to-face with the protestors, who seemed to be in particularly high and loud spirits as they posed for holograms with... Sisko screwed his eyes up, straining to see more clearly. Was that _Shiva Ghazi?_

He stomped his way back to the conference room, stopping on the way to put in a call to New Orleans, curious to know how Julian was faring. He got a busy signal, but he didn't have time enough to wait around to try again.

-=o=-

The rest of Julian's afternoon passed in much the same way as his morning, although he noticed that Nathan was less chatty than he'd been earlier. Julian wasn't sure what had caused the change. He doubted it had anything to do with Joseph's presence, since Joseph didn't seem to mind the conversations that took place between his staff and, in fact, never seemed to run out of things to say, himself. It might, Julian supposed, have had something to do with the approaching evening rush.

Every time Julian asked, "Is there anything else you want me to do?" Joseph or Nathan found him something. Julian washed salad leaves, and continued to chop and dice as required. He wondered, as he was given yet another task to tackle, whether there was ever nothing to do in the restaurant.

-=o=-

The afternoon's meeting wasn't any more constructive than the morning's, and Sisko was exhausted by the time he got back to New Orleans. It was odd, he mused, how being locked in a room full of bureaucrats could take more out of you than a hike, a workout in a gym, or a good fight.

Sisko materialised in the alley and peered around the back door, which was standing ajar. He watched for a while, paying particular attention to Julian, who, he was pleased to see, was standing upright, and looking barely the worse for his recent experiences. Julian wore a serious expression and seemed to be focussing all his concentration on his current task.

Finally, Sisko had seen enough. He went through the door and called out a cheery, "Hello!"

Julian turned around and, from the way he moved, Sisko could tell that his appearance hadn't come as any surprise. Maybe Julian had heard the transporter beam. How acute were Julian's enhanced senses, anyway?

He pushed the question away and asked, "How are you feeling?"

"All right," said Julian. "I'm pretty much back to normal."

Sisko nodded curtly, the abruptness of his gesture mitigated by a slight smile. "How has your day been?"

"Good," said Julian. "But—" He broke off. Sisko wondered why. Then he saw Nathan wandering into earshot, and he guessed that, whatever Julian wanted to say, he wanted to say in private.

"Later?" asked Sisko quietly.

"Later," agreed Julian. He lowered his gaze, and turned his attention back to his chopping. Sisko looked down and almost laughed. Julian was cutting carrots into julienne strips. Was that someone's idea of a joke, or simply an amusing coincidence?

Whichever it was, Julian was cutting the carrots into the most perfect strips that Sisko had ever seen short of something produced by a machine or a replicator. He wondered whether Julian had any idea just how good a job he was doing, and decided that he probably didn't.

Julian looked intent on the task in hand, and, by recent standards at least, quite relaxed. It was a good look on him, and Sisko hoped that it was more than a temporary blip.

Sisko patted Julian on the arm as he left the kitchen. He walked into the dining area, where Joseph was just bidding goodnight to a couple of the evening's earliest diners. He waited until Joseph had closed the door behind the pair, then greeted his father.

Joseph smiled. "Good day?"

"Same as usual," said Sisko with a shrug. "How have things been here?"

"Fine," said Joseph.

"Any problems?" Sisko asked quietly, his eyes twitching in the direction of the kitchen.

Joseph shook his head reassuringly.

"I'm going to change and check my messages, and I'll come back down to help after that," said Sisko.

By the time Sisko came back downstairs, clad in baggy cotton trousers, white shirt and an apron, the last of the covers of the evening were starting on their entrées, and the kitchen activity had moved from preparation to clearing up. He took up a position in front of the sink, where he sorted through dirty pots, pans, utensils and crockery. Julian soon joined him, and they worked together, side by side, in near silence.

-=o=-

Finally, the last of the customers left. The plates and utensils were cleaned and put away. Nathan went home and Julian made himself useful, sweeping the floor and stacking chairs.

Sisko and Joseph, mugs loaded with coffee, sat down to chat. "I'm a little worried about our guest," said Sisko quietly.

"Why? He's done really well today, and he's bounced back from last night."

"I know, but he usually smiles and talks a lot, but he's not doing much of either. I want to know why."

"Given the state he was in when you brought him here, I'd have thought that would be obvious."

Sisko shook his head. "It's more than that." His eyes followed Julian as Julian crouched down to use a dustpan and brush.

"You said he's been having a rough time," said Joseph. "What kind of rough?"

Sisko shook his head again. "I'd rather he told us, himself, instead of me having to speculate."

Joseph, also watching Julian, said, "Does he ever slow down?"

"Not often. Not so you'd notice."

"And the way he picks things up? It's like he's too good to be true. It's not normal."

Sisko saw Julian still for a moment before he swept up the last of the dust and crumbs into the dustpan. "Oh, crap!" muttered Sisko. Julian emptied the pan into a garbage sack, which he picked up and took out into the alley.

"What?" asked Joseph.

"He heard you."

"Heard...?"

"He heard you say that his behaviour wasn't normal. I know what you mean. But Julian may have taken your words the wrong way."

"How could anyone misinterpret what I said?"

Sisko sighed. "I don't think Julian would recognise normal, even if it were staring him in the face. His childhood wasn't what you'd call...ideal."

"I asked about his family earlier. He seemed reluctant to talk about them. Although he did mention that his father is in prison." Joseph glanced across at Sisko. "But I guess you already knew that, huh?"

"Yes. He's just started a two year sentence."

"Julian also mentioned that they moved around when he was growing up."

"I think so, yes. I also know that Julian and his parents were estranged for a number of years. They've only just started trying to communicate with each other again."

"So, what happened? Abuse?"

"Not in the way you probably mean it. And, having met Julian's parents, I honestly think they had his best interests in mind when they...did what they did."

Joseph stared. "What did they do?"

"Something...abhorrent. Unconscionable. Julian found out when he was a teenager, and it wrecked whatever relationship he had with them."

"So that's why..."

"Why, what?"

Joseph shrugged. "Well, it's pretty obvious that he has no idea what 'being one of the family' means." He looked at Sisko and asked again, "What did his parents do?"

Julian emerged from the kitchen. He stood defiantly erect, but Sisko had no trouble reading the anguish in the grim set of Julian's mouth and the turmoil in his eyes. "What the captain is trying to avoid saying is that my parents had me genetically enhanced when I was six."


	10. Chapter 10

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** As always, thank you for reading and for your interest in this story.

I've noticed that I've picked up a few more followers in the last week, and several more people have favourited the story. Thank you! Thank you also to those of you who reviewed the last chapter. I was a little worried because of the change in pace, but you have gone a long way to reassure me. This one, like the last, is also a little lacking in action, but things will pick up again quite soon.

-=o=-

**Chapter Ten**

Sisko's gaze flitted between Joseph and Julian. A flood of emotions chased across Joseph's face: disbelief; horror; fear; uncertainty... All the while, Julian stood straight. He was trying to keep his expression calm, but Sisko could see the tension around his eyes and mouth, and he knew that Julian was waiting for Joseph to condemn him.

Joseph's reactions reached acceptance before settling on wry amusement. Finally, he chuckled, and said, "My boy really does bring home the most fascinating people!"

Some of the tension bled out of Julian's posture, but that merely left him looking lost. Sisko suppressed a sigh, and said, "Come and sit down."

"I don't want to intrude."

Sisko's eyebrows rose, disturbed by the contrast between what he considered to be Julian's normal and current behaviours. Today's Julian was quiet and subdued, nothing like the talkative, brash man Sisko had first met almost five years before.

Back in the early days of their acquaintance, Julian had gate-crashed at least one meal invitation that Sisko had extended to Jadzia. Sisko also remembered multiple occasions when Julian had bounced into Ops, full of misplaced enthusiasm, desperate to regale everyone with some tale or other.

Sisko had been aware that, over the years, Julian's social interactions had become more measured and mature, and he'd thought that had been a good thing.

Then, after his return from the Dominion prison, Julian's behaviours had changed again. He'd been tentative and unsure. Sisko hadn't been overly concerned, though. Given what he'd been through, Sisko would have been surprised if Julian hadn't had problems readjusting to life on the station. Sisko had been confident that Julian would recover over time. However, Julian hadn't had time to readjust before he'd been outed as genetically enhanced.

Sisko hadn't registered how withdrawn Julian was becoming until Jadzia had brought Julian's behaviour to his attention.

So, when had Julian stopped pushing himself into the middle of other people's social interactions? When had he learned to worry about intruding? Was it an indication of social maturity or of something more malign? Had Julian's withdrawal from society already been fully developed before he'd left Deep Space Nine, or had it been compounded by his experiences since he'd arrived on Earth?

Sisko didn't know. He hadn't paid enough attention back on the station. Tonight had been the first time in months that he'd spent any length of time in Julian's company, and it had left him feeling shocked and guilty, because Julian's behaviour revealed just how much he'd changed without Sisko noticing.

Sisko said, "You're not intruding. Why would you think that?"

"Because I'm better now. I appreciate you bringing me here last night, but this is your family home. I shouldn't be here."

Sisko and Joseph exchanged glances, and Sisko realised that this was part of what Joseph had meant about Julian not knowing what being part of the family meant. Being invited to stay in the household included being a part of what went on and feeling as though you belonged. It was about more than being an unpaid kitchen hand.

This time, Sisko didn't bother to suppress his sigh. "You wouldn't be here if we didn't want you to stay. Now, come and sit down."

Julian did as he was told, but Sisko could tell that he was still unsure. Julian perched on the edge of the bench, looking as though he might bolt at any moment.

"Coffee?" Sisko asked and, as he stood up, he caught a flicker of emotion cross Julian's face. He wondered why such a simple question could have prompted it and why it made Julian blink.

Julian cleared his throat, and said, "Thank you."

"How do you like it?"

"Um... White, extra sweet." He sounded like he might be guessing.

Sisko realised that he'd never seen Julian drink coffee and that he usually ordered Tarkalean tea. "I could make something else, if you'd prefer?"

"No, sir. Coffee's fine. Thank you."

Moments later, Sisko put a mug down, along with sweeteners and a spoon.

Dealing with the coffee gave Julian something to do with his hands, and he fussed and stirred and twiddled for much longer than was strictly necessary. For whatever reason, Julian was still nervous. Stressed.

Sisko remembered what Loews had said about his hormone levels. He opened his mouth to say something, but Joseph beat him to it. Joseph put a hand on Julian's forearm and said, "Relax, son. You're among friends."

Julian turned big eyes on Joseph, and his mouth opened a fraction in astonishment. "Thank you," he whispered. Then, Sisko was relieved to see, he sat back more comfortably in his seat.

Something told Sisko that he shouldn't launch straight into quizzing Julian about his day or about the time he'd spent on Earth before that. If he did, Julian would most likely feel that he'd been ambushed. Sisko needed to work around to the topics gradually. So he talked to and laughed with Joseph about the restaurant, the menu, about his sister, and about shared acquaintances.

From time to time, he glanced at Julian, who took occasional sips from his mug, all the while trying to look as though he wasn't listening avidly. Once or twice, Sisko caught something in Julian's eyes, something desperate, or maybe just desperately sad. Each time it happened, Julian blinked the naked emotions away. But Sisko had seen the looks on the younger man's face, and he wondered.

-=o=-

Eventually, Julian looked relaxed enough that Sisko decided it would be all right ask about his time on Earth.

Julian shrugged. "There's not much to say, really. Starfleet Medical ordered lots of tests, and I've had to talk to a psychiatrist."

"Oh?"

"Dr Loews," said Julian. He thought for a moment, then he said, "She was with you yesterday? At Starfleet Medical?"

"Yes. And we brought you here."

Julian nodded, absorbing the information. Then he said, "Did you know, she has four genetically enhanced patients? She said I could meet them, if I like."

"And would you? Like to, I mean," said Sisko.

Julian toyed with his mug for a moment, then he said, "I have to admit...I'm curious. I've never met anyone who..."

Who, what? thought Sisko. Was like him? Had gone through the same thing as him? But when Sisko spoke, it wasn't to ask about Loews's patients; it was to ask more about Julian's time on Earth. "How have people been treating you? Besides the holosuite, I mean."

"Most people have been polite. The demonstrators haven't, obviously. But you and Dr Loews are the only people since I've been here who have invited me to sit down and have a drink with them."

Sisko stared at him, appalled, as some of the things Loews had said to him began to make more sense and he understood Julian's earlier reaction. Finally, when Julian began to fidget uncomfortably, Sisko shifted topics and asked, "What happened in the holosuite?"

Julian looked lost again. "I'm not really sure."

"What do you mean, you're not sure?" asked Sisko.

"I remember what happened up to a certain point. After that, things are...hazy. And I'm missing time."

"Missing time?"

"Normally—normally for me, I mean—I can keep track of time very precisely, down to the minute. I couldn't, not in the holosuite. I can't even tell you how long I was in there. Captain...J-Joseph... You have to understand, for me to experience...holes...in my recollection of what happened is...disconcerting, to say the least."

"Why?"

"It feels like how things were before," Julian whispered, looking down at his hands.

"How so?" asked Sisko.

"My memory, before I was...changed. It wasn't good." He sighed. "I wasn't much good at a lot of things. I remember not understanding things. And I remember...confusion. A lot of confusion. I don't remember detail. In fact, I don't really remember very much at all. This feels similar." Julian rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, and he stretched to ease some of his tension. "I hate the not knowing, the...void...that's in my head."

"Can you tell us what you do remember?"

Julian nodded slowly. "I'll try." He paused for a moment, then he said, "I got a message, which I thought was from Dr Tsonga. But when I got to Medical, it was people from Security who were waiting for me. There was a woman—a Commander Roughsedge—and two men. They're the only ones I remember clearly, but there were more later. They escorted me to a turbolift, then..." He frowned. "Commander Roughsedge injected me with a hypospray. When I woke up, I was in the holosuite."

"So, who was responsible for the scenario? Medical or Security?"

Julian stared at Sisko, a frown etched between his brows. "I assumed that it was Tsonga's team, even though, before that, I'd been under the impression that they'd finished all their tests. Wasn't it?"

Sisko drummed his fingers against the table. "Dr Loews seemed pretty sure that Medical wasn't responsible."

Julian looked unhappy. Tentatively, he said, "It must have been Medical. Who else would want to test me that way?"

Who indeed? thought Sisko. Doubtfully, he said, "They were Security officers who were in the holosuite with you when we found you. And you, yourself, said Roughsedge told you that they'd been the ones who'd called you to Medical. That it hadn't been Tsonga."

"I...thought... I assumed...that they were role-playing." Julian's eyes were looking big and worried again. "You don't think so?" His obvious alarm grew as a thought crossed his mind. "You don't think they'll try something else, do you?"

"I don't know," said Sisko. Then, more to calm Julian than because he truly believed it, he said, "Perhaps you're right. Loews must have got things wrong."

Julian's posture relaxed, and he nodded. "It's not as though Tsonga and Loews have been working closely together. There's no reason why she should have known what Tsonga's team were up to."

Sisko nodded thoughtfully. He shelved the question and moved on. "What were they trying to do?"

"I don't know. All I know is that it didn't go according to plan."

"Oh?"

"They injected me with a psychotropic but it didn't take hold, and I could see through the scenario they'd created. I could tell that the details weren't right."

"In what way weren't they right?"

Julian outlined the inaccuracies he'd noticed. Then, self-consciously, he said, "I didn't put all that description in my original report because I knew that level of detail wouldn't be considered...normal."

"Maybe you should be grateful that you didn't," said Sisko. "If you had, maybe they'd have got the details right, and you would never have known the difference."

"That's true. But they wouldn't have needed to give me more kenfitamol, and perhaps I'd have a better idea about what they were up to."

"Perhaps," agreed Sisko. He paused for a few seconds, then he said, "When we found you, the doctors had to treat you for an overdose." He looked carefully at Julian, wondering whether Julian knew or had guessed just how close a shave he'd had.

Julian nodded. "I told Commander Roughsedge that she couldn't give me any more kenfitamol, but she wouldn't listen. I tried to stop them." His voice was tight, and he was clenching his hands around the mug. His eyes were wide with remembered horror.

Softly, Sisko said, "Them? What did they do?"

Julian struggled to keep his voice under control, to sound calm. "She...the others...she ordered them to hold me still, and...I tried to stop them, but I couldn't. There were too many of them, and I was already weakened by the drug. They...they...h-held me down and..." Julian's words tapered off into a whisper. "I didn't know if I'd wake up again." Then, more strongly, he said, "I don't remember much after that—just occasional flashes, impressions that don't make much sense. Then you...Dr Loews...hospital. And...being sick?"

Sisko nodded.

"The first thing I remember clearly was waking up here, last night." Julian looked at Sisko and said, "I saw you, and I smelled the rain, and I knew that you'd saved me."

Sisko felt embarrassed at the naked gratitude and awe in Julian's tone and expression. He shrugged his own and Julian's emotions away, and said, "You also needed treatment for various injuries: bruises; cuts; fractured ribs... Do you remember anything about those?"

Julian shook his head slowly. "Not...clearly. I think, maybe... But, no. My memories are jumbled. That must be the drug. There were faces I recognised from the past and yellow people, and..." He shook his head again, and said, "I must have got it wrong."

"Got what wrong?"

But Julian just shook his head and didn't say anything.

Tentatively, Sisko said, "And...I saw your scars."

"Scars, Captain?"

"Here. And here," said Sisko, pointing to the corresponding areas on his own body. Dr Loews said they were recent, but they hadn't been treated properly."

Julian nodded slowly, wordlessly.

"Were they from the prison camp...or from Deep Space Nine?"

Julian shot a horrified glance in Sisko's direction. "Deep Space Nine? Things never got _that_ bad on the station!"

"So...the Dominion, then."

"The Jem'Hadar."

Sisko had read Julian's report. He'd known that Julian had been attacked, beaten and tortured. But having seen the scars... Somehow that made what Julian had gone through real in a way that it hadn't been before. "You said you were recovered!" He hadn't meant to accuse Julian of anything, but he knew that was how his words sounded, shock making them sharper than he'd intended.

Julian grimaced. "I am recovered. Physically, there's nothing wrong. It's just..."

"Just...?"

"We didn't have proper medical equipment. The Vorta patched me up after the Jem'Hadar had their...fun...but they didn't care about appearances. If the wounds had been sealed more carefully at the time, they wouldn't have scarred. But they weren't, and I need to schedule a cosmetic procedure with a surgeon to remove the scars. But what with one thing and another..."

"You haven't got round to it," said Sisko, finishing the sentence for him.

-=o=-

Sisko ran out of questions. Either that, or he realised that Julian was running out of energy to answer them. The three men drained the last dregs of their coffees. Julian rose to gather the mugs up, but Joseph forestalled him with a firm hand on his forearm.

Joseph carried the used coffee things into the kitchen, leaving Julian and Sisko alone. Finally, Julian had a chance to ask the question that had been bothering him all day.

"Why didn't you warn him?"

"Warn him?" asked Sisko. "What about?"

"About me."

"About...oh! Because…because it doesn't matter."

Julian's lips tightened. "Try again."

"It _shouldn't_ matter," said Sisko.

"And yet it does."

Sisko nodded slowly. "All right, then. I didn't tell him because I wanted him to get to know you first. It makes a difference."

"Does it?"

"Yes. It...changes one's perspective. You're an individual, not a stereotype."

Julian wasn't sure what to think about that. On the one hand, he appreciated Sisko's half-spoken compliment. On the other... Sisko's actions smacked of subterfuge and were too close to Julian's own actions over the years. He'd thought, once he'd been outed, he would be done with hiding. Apparently he'd been wrong. He wasn't sure how he felt about the captain aiding and abetting him. Julian knew that Sisko meant well, but he wasn't sure that what Sisko had done was helpful.

Where was the line between keeping quiet, wilfully assuming people already knew the truth, and keeping information from someone who deserved to know?

Who deserved to know? When? And why?

Strangers? Friends? Friends of friends? Sexual partners? Colleagues?

The father of your captain, who allowed you to stay in his house?

The deal only demanded that he reveal himself to close, senior colleagues, but that same deal had exposed him to anyone who had the faintest interest in current affairs or who had access to a Federation database.

Not openly discussing his genetic status with strangers skirted dangerously close to breaking the spirit, if not the letter, of the laws surrounding enhancement. True, Julian had broken the law for years. The difference now was, since he'd been found out, he was under closer scrutiny. He'd been almost forgiven for his past actions, but his future ones were a different matter entirely, and he was still trying to figure out exactly what that meant.

Sisko said, "Something's bothering you."

"I...I don't know." What was done was done. The same circumstances were most unlikely to arise again; Sisko had only one family, after all. "No," said Julian. "Everything's fine."

-=o=-

"Where is he?" asked Joseph, when he came back out of the kitchen.

"He's gone upstairs," said Sisko. "He said he was tired."

"I'd have thought he'd have at least said goodnight."

"I think the conversation took more out of him than he'd like to admit." Sisko smiled unhappily. "I learned the hard way on the station that his instinct is to keep things to himself. By his standards, he was quite forthcoming just now, and I don't think it was easy for him."

Joseph raised his eyebrows. "That was forthcoming?"

"H'm," agreed Sisko.

"Then how come I've still got so many questions?"

Sisko's lips approximated a wry smile. "I think he also wanted to give us some space to...talk."

"About him, you mean?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

They lapsed into a thoughtful silence. After a while, Joseph broke it by saying, "When you said he'd been having a rough time..."

"Bit of an understatement, wasn't it?" said Sisko. "You haven't been following the news lately, have you?"

Joseph shook his head. "Too depressing. Besides, I can always trust you and Jake to tell me the important stuff."

Even knowing what he'd known, Sisko had still been shocked by what Julian had told them. No wonder Joseph, who'd had no previous information to work with, looked shaken. "Well, if you had been following the news, you'd have already heard a lot about Julian."

"Why? What happened?"

Sisko summarised events from Julian's return from the Gamma Quadrant, through Dr Zimmerman's finding out about Julian's genetic background, to the present, filling in at least some of the gaps in Joseph's knowledge. Sisko emphasised Bennett's deal, the FNS news release and Julian's summons back to Earth. He told Joseph about the vandalism on the station and the demonstrators in San Francisco, and he mentioned a few things that he suspected. "That's why I wanted him to tell us what's been happening. Even now, I'm not sure that I trust him to have told us everything."

Then Sisko and Joseph sat in silent companionship, and thought about the young man upstairs.

-=o=-

Julian had a restless night, his sleep peppered with nightmares of the past and present, intermingled with more surreal images. He woke up, coated in a thin sheen of cooling perspiration, his dreams slipping into the depths of his subconscious, leaving him feeling tired and restlessly uneasy.

He dragged himself out of bed and did his best to wash away the vestiges of the night. He dressed carefully, making sure that his face was smooth, his hair was neat, his clothes were pristine, and that his boots shone. There was no need to alert anyone that anything was amiss. Then he went downstairs.

Halfway down the final flight, he heard his name, and he stopped abruptly. He knew he shouldn't eavesdrop, but somehow he couldn't stop himself.

"What do you think of Julian?" Joseph asked.

"He's all right," answered Nathan. "He picks things up quickly, and he works hard. But—"

"But?" asked Joseph.

"I dunno. He's a little...standoffish."

"How so?" said Joseph, sounding puzzled.

"Well...for example, he didn't eat with the rest of us."

"What do you mean?"

"You know, when we eat after the lunchtime crowd is gone."

Julian imagined Joseph nodding.

"We all sat down as usual. All of us, except Julian. He took his food into the alley out back."

"Ah," said Joseph. Then, after a long pause, he said thoughtfully, "Did you ask him to join you?"

"No. We just assumed he would."

"Next time, ask him. You might be surprised."

Julian began to move again. He took his time and made more noise than usual, wanting to give Joseph and Nathan warning of his approach and to give them time to wrap up their conversation before he arrived.

-=o=-

The morning sun streamed through the windows of Dinmont's office. Later on, the sun would rise higher, and the room would be cast in cool shadow. For now, though, Sisko had to blink against the brightness.

"Thank you for coming, Captain Sisko." Dinmont shook his hand. "I appreciate you finding the time."

"Your message implied a degree of urgency."

"Well...yes." But she didn't get straight down to business. Instead, she asked, "Coffee?"

"Please," said Sisko. "Black. No sweetener."

Dinmont nodded and ordered Sisko's drink, along with one for herself, from a small, portable replicator, which had been positioned on top of a credenza.

Her dog annoyed Sisko as it snuffled around his ankles, and he wondered why it was that owners of small dogs were so often inclined to let them get away with liberties that larger dogs were seldom allowed. He assumed it had something to do with the small-is-invariably-cute-and-adorable mentality, although, in his view, all it usually meant was an awful lot of annoyance got concentrated into a tiny package.

The dog was now poking its nose up his trouser leg. He tried to nudge it away from his right ankle with his left foot.

"Did you know," asked Dinmont, making small talk as the replicator slowly filled her requests, apparently oblivious to his discomfort, "that this office is in what used to be a Sanctuary District?"

"As a matter of fact, I did," said Sisko.

"I've become quite a student of that time period since I moved in here. It's fascinating, and I'd like to think that Gabriel Bell's ideals inspire me to do my best work."

Sisko wished he could tell her that "Gabriel Bell" could not have changed the path of history without help, and that the best way she could honour Bell's legacy was to help Julian Bashir. However, their trip to the past was classified, and he couldn't say anything.

"Actually," said Dinmont thoughtfully, "you look a lot like him. Was he an ancestor?"

"No," said Sisko, feeling uncomfortable.

The replicator finally sputtered to a halt. Dinmont passed a cup and saucer to Sisko. He took them and sniffed. The coffee smelled surprisingly good. Thus encouraged, he took a sip and he found himself nodding appreciatively. Whoever had programmed the replicator had done an excellent job.

Dinmont put her own cup and saucer on her desk and sat down. Then she looked across at Sisko and said, "The Bashir case is...tricky."

"How so?"

Dinmont sighed. "The Investigating Officer's report is damning. Irrefutable. How am I supposed to defend someone who knowingly broke the law to obtain a medical licence and who practises medicine illegally?"

Sisko inhaled deeply. He tried—and failed—to tamp down his irritation. "Dr Bashir has been nothing but a credit to his profession. Surely that has to count for something."

For the first time, a hint of a smile touched Dinmont's face. "I can see why he suggested you as a character referee. You're more pro than I'd hoped."

Sisko's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"He seemed doubtful about suggesting you."

Sisko's eyebrows rose. "I can't imagine why. He's very good at his job. And I can think of a lot of other people who'd tell you the same thing."

"Really? Who else besides you?"

"Any number of people, I should imagine. Dr Bashir is well regarded on Deep Space Nine, so any of the station's senior staff would help. Plus, he's gained a reputation on Bajor for his philanthropic work with the war orphans there."

Dinmont raised her eyebrows.

"You seem surprised."

"Dr Bashir only came up with two names: yours and...a Miles O'Brien?"

Sisko nodded. "Bashir and O'Brien are friends."

"But... You seem to think lots of people would support him. He seemed doubtful even about the two names he came up with."

"Ah. I see. You need to bear in mind that Julian has...issues. He knows he's a good doctor, and I can tell you that he's a good man. But he's had it drummed into him, both by our culture and by recent events, that he's worth less than the rest of us. I think that colours his judgment." Sisko paused, then he said, "Tell me, what did you think before you met him?"

"I thought he'd be...bigger."

"Bigger?"

"Not taller, necessarily, but more...solid. More like you, actually. And I thought he'd be confident, arrogant even, and powerful. I thought he'd be the kind of person who'd dominate a room, just by being in it. To be honest, the very thought of him intimidated me. Scared me, too."

"And after?"

"Daffers liked him. And I trust her judgement."

Sisko and Dinmont eyed one another as they both drank from their cups, their movements mirroring each other. Then Dinmont returned to the conversation. "I was relieved to find that you're here, on Earth."

"Oh?"

"Like I said, the case is tricky. It's going to be hard to defend. Your being available to give evidence in person is about the only thing going in our favour."

"How so?"

"Evidence given in person is always more powerful than anything written. At least with face-to-face testimonies you know the panel will be forced to hear them. Who knows whether the panel members even bother to read the written material they're given? We can request that the written testimonies are read out at the hearing, but the chair may not allow it."

"And that's an issue because most of the evidence being given on Julian's behalf will be written?" suggested Sisko.

"Yes," nodded Dinmont. "He's been off-planet for too long for there to be anyone local to speak up for him. I thought some of his professors might, but they seem to want to keep their distance. The most I could get was a copy of Bashir's academic transcripts and the reports that Tsonga and Loews wrote."

"Don't they help?"

"Loews's report might. She says she agrees with your Counsellor Telnorri's assessment: Bashir doesn't have any psychological issues that should concern Starfleet. But Tsonga's report is pretty damning. It concentrates on how Bashir's Augmentation manifests itself and emphasises all the ways he deviates from human norms."

Sisko frowned. "It's not a crime to be different."

"Except that," sighed Dinmont, "in his case it is."

Sisko stood up, put his face in his hands, and tried to rub away his frustration along with his tension. "All right," he said. "So what do you want me to do?"

-=o=-

Julian couldn't quite figure Joseph out. Joseph treated him no differently than he had before he'd learned the truth and, although Julian was grateful for that, he didn't understand it. Maybe Joseph didn't know any better; maybe he was just following Sisko's lead. But perhaps that didn't do Joseph justice. Maybe Sisko was the way he was because he'd had Joseph as a father.

But, wouldn't that imply that Julian would also have been influenced by his own father? If he had, he didn't know how. Or maybe that was another difference caused by the enhancements.

Julian's thoughts chased around in circles, then tangled themselves up like a piece of old string. Meanwhile, he resolved to keep his head down, to listen, to learn and to do everything he was asked.

Julian guessed that Joseph had found time to tell Nathan about him because, once or twice, he'd caught Nathan looking at him out of the corners of his eyes. At least Nathan was still talking to him, even if it was just about superficial stuff: the right way to prepare and cook mirlitons; the best way to dice onions; how to boil and peel beets...

Now it was time to sit down for their lunch, and Nathan was saying, "Julian? Why don't you join us?"

Julian looked at Nathan, torn. He wanted to, but he'd heard part of Nathan's conversation with Joseph. He didn't want a pity invitation. He didn't want to impose, if Nathan was only asking out of a sense of obligation to his employer.

"Yeah! Come on," called a couple of the waiters. "Anyone'd think you didn't like us, the way you've been avoiding us!"

"No, it's not—" said Julian, and he felt mortified.

Nathan took in the expression on Julian's face and said, "Grant's just funning with you. Now, come and sit down."

The waiters budged along the bench to make room, and Julian carried his plate over. Still he hesitated. "We don't bite," said Grant, impatiently. "What's wrong with you?"

_Wrong._

Something stirred in the back of his mind.

_Freak. Nip. Abomination. _

It felt like a memory. There were voices and images, and yellow people were pressing in on him, shouting, taunting and attacking. Maybe it was the memory of a dream or his subconscious playing tricks; it had to be something like that, because he had no true memories of being hurt quite like this. Echoes of screams and almost unbearable pain pricked at the edges of his mind.

He suddenly felt sick. Oh. Of course. The drug. It must be the lingering aftereffects of the kenfitamol.

He pushed the images away, and he was back in the present, in Sisko's restaurant. He put his plate down, shook his head, and said, "I'm sorry," and he took off upstairs.

Behind him, he heard a voice say, "What the hell was that about?"

"You idiot! You scared him off!" said Nathan. "I'd better go after him."

Julian retreated into his room, his face flaming. He'd run away! He. Had. Run. Away. How cowardly! His reaction had been automatic and completely out of proportion to the circumstances.

Was this what he'd come to? Had the pressures of recent weeks reduced him to this? Timid. Shy. Suspicious.

Scared.

When had it become easier to flee from and avoid people, just in case they might turn on him?

He'd always known that people would react badly to his being enhanced, but when had he given up trying to meet them halfway? Had it been when he'd first heard that Dr Zimmerman know the truth, or was it what had happened afterwards on the station? Or had it been when Arthur Bratwell had slighted him, his avoidance of the protestors, or was it the quiet rejection of Dr Tsonga's team? Or had it been a combination of things, a gradual and insidious process?

Julian stared out of the window. Someone had left a light on in one of the attic rooms in the house opposite. One of its roof tiles was missing, and a couple of others were crooked. The guttering was dripping at a rate of one droplet every forty-three seconds.

"Julian?" Nathan's voice made him jump. "They didn't mean anything by it."

Julian didn't answer. He heard Nathan's footsteps as he crossed the room and felt him come to a stop by his side.

"What's your problem?" asked Nathan impatiently.

"I don't have a problem," Julian lied.

"Yes. You do." Nathan paused, then he said, "Why were you so bothered about sitting with us, anyway?"

Julian didn't answer immediately. Then he said softly, "Experience."

"Experience?" asked Nathan astonished.

Julian sighed, and decided that Nathan deserved at least a bit of the truth. "Before the captain brought me here, I was staying in San Francisco. While I was there, I had to get used to people avoiding me. They refused to sit with me, excluded me...even people I'd known before. The captain and his father...they've been...exceptional." He took a deep breath, then said more firmly, "If you and the others want me to join you, then I will. But, please, don't ask me just because Joseph wants you to."

"You know about that, huh."

"I overheard you talking to him."

"Then you must have also heard me say that we'd assumed you'd sit with us."

Julian nodded. "But that was before you knew the truth about me."

Nathan laughed. "Julian, I knew before Joseph! Unlike him, I follow the news!"

"You knew?" said Julian, perplexed.

"Yeah. So?"

"But you... Do the others...?"

Nathan shrugged. "Dunno. Maybe not. But it doesn't matter. They won't care."

Julian turned and looked carefully at Nathan's face. He could see no insincerity there. Tentatively, he said, "But... You've been staring at me on and off all morning. I thought—"

"That was because I'd found out you're enhanced?" Nathan shook his head, as though the thought had never crossed his mind. "I've only been looking at you because I've been trying to figure you out. When you didn't sit down with us yesterday, I figured that you thought you were too good for us. But it wasn't that at all, was it?"

"No." Julian turned to look out of the window again. The paint on the window frames of the house opposite was peeling. The geraniums in the window boxes needed deadheading. He turned and looked at Nathan again.

"Come on," said Nathan. "We'll tell 'em together. And then you'll sit down and have lunch with us."

-=o=-

"There's something you should know about me," said Julian a minute or two later. "Then you can tell me whether or not you want me to eat with you."

"What? Besides the fact that you're a little bit weird?" asked John. He said it with a smile, and Julian sensed that he meant it as a joke.

"Only a little bit?" asked Julian, his eyebrows rising. "Some people would have you believe that I'm a lot weird."

"And you?" asked Grant. "What do you think you are?"

That was a difficult question. Freak? Monster? Julian shrugged his automatic responses away and said, "I'm me. But you ought to know, I'm not quite...normal."

"No kidding," said John wryly.

Nathan said, "What he's trying to say is—"

Julian cut Nathan off with a shake of his head. "It's all right." He straightened his shoulders, stood tall, took a deep breath, and said, "I was genetically engineered as a child." He flicked a quick glance at John. "You don't get much weirder than that."

The collective response of the waiters was one of surprised silence. Then Tina, who hadn't spoken before, said, "My brother's got six fingers on both his hands. Now, _that's_ weird!"

"My cousin has different coloured eyes," said Grant.

"We had a dog like that once," said John.

They didn't get it, Julian thought. "I'm not human."

"Who says?" asked Nathan, sounding surprised. "You look human to me."

"The law says," said Julian.

"Big whoop," said Nathan. "Who cares what the law says? It's what you say that counts. What do you say?"

Julian opened his mouth, but before he could find an answer, Grant said, "So...you're a Nip? Seriously?"

Julian didn't like the question, but he was relieved that Grant had finally grasped the full import of what he'd been trying to tell them. However, he couldn't detect anything negative in Grant's words, only curiosity and surprise. Self-consciously, he nodded.

"What's that like?"

"I can't answer that," said Julian. "That's like me asking you what it's like to be...normal. You're you. I'm me. The only difference is that I wasn't born this way."

"You're who those nutters in San Francisco have been protesting about?" asked John.

"Yes," said Julian. "I'll understand if—"

"Oh, for goodness sake! Sit down!" exclaimed Grant.

"Really?" asked Julian, finally allowing himself to feel hopeful.

"Really." Grant grabbed Julian's sleeve and pulled him towards the table. Julian stumbled, and more or less fell onto the bench. The others laughed good-naturedly.

"I'll warm up your plate for you," said Nathan, and carried it through to the kitchen.


	11. Chapter 11

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **I hope it isn't redundant of me to keep thanking everyone who's reading, reviewing, following and favouriting this. I really do appreciate your interest and support.

-=o=-

**Chapter Eleven**

Julian was fascinated by the ease with which Joseph interacted with strangers and regular customers alike, and he quickly found himself making a game out of trying to identify which were which.

For example, the man and woman currently sitting at table five were new customers, although, if their conversation was anything to go by, they wouldn't be staying long enough to have dessert. Nor would they be coming back again, at least not with each other. On the other hand, Jonas and Felicia, at table three, were definitely regulars. In the short time since Julian had arrived in New Orleans, they had already visited the restaurant twice before.

Julian didn't mean to listen in on the conversations; he knew eavesdropping was rude. But, sometimes, he found it hard not to hear things. So far this evening, Julian had done his best not to hear the couple at table five accuse each other of lying, infidelity, of not listening to another, and of only staying together for the sake of the goldfish. Apparently, this evening's last-ditch attempt at romance was failing miserably. Meanwhile, Jonas and Felicia had discussed the difference between cayenne and paprika, gumbo versus jambalaya, the Changeling threat, politics and the upcoming war.

Initially, Julian had assumed that Jonas and Felicia were also a couple, but he'd soon changed his mind. They didn't talk like a couple. Although they obviously knew each other well, they didn't know the ins and outs of each other's lives and opinions that two people who had lived together for a long time might. In fact, they reminded him a little of himself and Garak, and how they enjoyed spending time together, engaging in the thrust and parry of debate. Of course, the conversations Jonas and Felicia had were more straightforward than any he had with Garak. Unlike Garak, neither of them disagreed simply for pleasure or principle. Jonas and Felicia agreed when their opinions matched and happily agreed to disagree when they didn't. In short, they enjoyed talking and setting the world to rights, and they liked each other's company.

Julian caught another sentence of their shifting conversation, one word leaping out at him and lodging uncomfortably in his consciousness: Augment. He put his head down and concentrated harder than he needed to on his current task of plating up salads. His mouth thinned into a straight line and his shoulders tensed.

He wasn't listening to the conversation. He wasn't. However, he couldn't help but hear, no matter how hard he tried not to.

"Hey, Grant," said Jonas, catching the waiter's attention as he went past. "What do you think?"

"About what?" asked Grant.

"About the Augment. Do you think he should be allowed to stay in Starfleet?"

"Why not?" answered Grant stiffly. "If he wants to."

Julian glanced up in time to see Grant lean in between Jonas and Felicia's heads and hear him say intensely, "Despite whatever you may have heard or read, he's a decent guy. Now, leave him be. Otherwise I might have to persuade Nathan to be extra generous with the cayenne."

Jonas and Felicia frowned, then turned to stare at Grant, struggling to find the sense in what Grant had just said. Then realisation struck. Together they looked towards the kitchen and caught Julian's eye before Julian ducked his head in embarrassment. They turned back to Grant and, in unison, said, "Him?"

"Yes, him," said Grant quietly. "And, just so you know, I bet he heard every word of our little exchange."

"Cool," said Jonas. He sounded pleasantly surprised, and possibly even a little impressed. Julian looked up again, startled.

Felicia and Jonas beamed at him and waved, and Julian found himself tentatively waving back.

-=o=-

After that, Julian felt more relaxed than he'd done in a long time. His problems hadn't vanished overnight, and he was realistic enough to know that they wouldn't go away any time soon.

Sisko and Loews had both asked around, wanting to find out what Roughsedge had been trying to do in the holosuite and, more importantly, whether she was likely to try to do something similar again. Nobody they had talked to seemed to know anything, or, if they did, they weren't saying. Yet, even allowing for all the question marks hanging over the incident and the tribunal that lay ahead, Julian's problems no longer felt quite so insurmountable, somehow being alleviated by the people around him. Only now that he was surrounded by people who didn't care what Julian was did he realise how great a toll meeting old and new acquaintances had been taking on him.

Julian couldn't understand why Sisko's customers, residents and staff were so different from other people, or why they were so blasé about him, but he chose not to ask, settling instead for being unquestioningly grateful. It wasn't just them, either. Julian met Nathan's wife, Shanna, and their four-year-old daughter, Patti. Shanna was cautiously shy of him for all of five minutes, but then forgot to worry. Patti had no qualms about him whatsoever, demanding to be lifted and cuddled, and she was quite happy to cling to him...at least until her childish attention span exhausted itself, and she demanded to be put down so she could run off and explore something new.

Thus, Julian found himself being drawn into the everyday life of the restaurant, and he revelled in it.

Life in New Orleans was different from Deep Space Nine. There were more humans and fewer members of other species. The population should have felt less diverse than he was used to. However, the humans came in all shapes, sizes, colours and ages, and Julian realised just how narrow a segment of humanity Starfleet included.

Julian talked and helped and learned, and he mused that, if more humans were like the ones he met at Sisko's, his life would turn out just fine.

-=o=-

The Directions Conference was scheduled to take place in one of the historic buildings of the La Défense area of Paris. From his past acquaintance with the city, Julian remembered that La Défense had been developed in the latter part of the twentieth century. Even after several hundred years, its architecture, which had been daringly modern when new, still contrasted sharply with the neighbourhoods closer to the Seine.

When Julian and Dinmont materialised in La Place De La Défense, Julian paused to look at his surroundings. He caught a glimpse of the Arc de Triomphe away in the distance, and memories of weekend visits to Paris came flooding back. He shrugged the memories away. Paris was just a place; he needed to concentrate on the reasons for the meeting to come, not its venue.

"This way," said Dinmont, pointing at a skyscraper. "The conference is in that building. Thirty-third floor. Come on." She led, and Julian followed.

They walked into the building's atrium, signed themselves in, and then headed to the elevator. As they travelled upwards, Julian surreptitiously wiped the palms of his hands against his uniform. Nothing would be decided at this meeting, but that didn't quell the butterflies in his stomach, which got more active with every floor they passed. He tried, without much success, to calm himself. If he felt this nervous today, he hated to think how he was going to feel at the tribunal, itself.

The elevator opened onto a generous and sparsely furnished space. There were a couple of sofas that looked as though they were there for decoration rather than use, three large potted plants and, at the far end of the room, a reception desk, which was currently unattended.

"Follow me," said Dinmont.

Julian glanced at her. She was obviously very familiar with the territory.

The thick carpet muffled their footsteps as they crossed the room, turned a corner, then walked down a corridor.

At the end of the corridor was a set of double doors made out of antique wood. Dinmont knocked and, without waiting for a reply, turned one of the brass door handles. She led the way inside.

"Ah. Here they are at last," said a familiar voice.

Pierre Delon.

Delon's implication was clear: Julian and Dinmont were late. Julian knew, however, that they were two whole minutes early. Delon's comment was either ill-informed, which Julian thought unlikely, or had been designed to unsettle them.

Julian hadn't seen Delon since he'd split up with Palis, and he decided that the intervening years had not been kind to the other man. Delon had less hair than Julian remembered, and what remained had greyed. Delon's face was creased and his lips were paler and less well defined than before. Only his green eyes were as piercing and intense as they had ever been.

Delon looked at Julian with a cold animosity, and Julian wondered what, exactly, Delon saw when he looked at him. Then Julian remembered wondering something similar the first time Palis had taken him home with her.

Back when they'd first met, Julian had been intimidated by both Delon's reputation and his manner. Delon had been brusque, and Julian had been convinced that Delon had taken an instant dislike to him. However, Palis had laughed his doubts and insecurities away. "Papa's like that with everyone," she'd said. "It's nothing personal. If he really hated you, you'd know."

After their first meeting, their relationship had changed and, as difficult as it was to believe now, there had been a time when Delon had been more like a father to Julian than his own.

Richard Bashir had heaped conflicting expectations upon his son, while apparently believing that Julian's enhancements meant that Julian could do anything and fail at nothing. Richard Bashir was a dreamer who saw the world as he thought it should be, not as it was. He didn't understand that sometimes—most times—people had to work to get what they wanted, that life wasn't easy, and that the universe didn't always provide.

Delon, by contrast, knew the value of hard work, but he also knew that the support of others could smooth one's path through life. He had encouraged Julian to work hard, had taken an interest in his studies, placements and electives, and had even gone so far as to offer him a job for when he graduated. Delon had told Julian that Julian reminded him of himself as a young man: driven, ambitious, hard-working... Delon had said that he approved of his daughter's choice of boyfriend. He had wanted to mentor and mould the younger man, help him achieve his full potential, and help him avoid the pitfalls that sometimes awaited the novice doctor. Delon had promised to help Julian avoid the missteps he, himself, had made.

Palis had once tried to joke that Delon acted more as a father to Julian than he did to her, his own daughter. But she hadn't managed to sound amused when she'd said it. Instead, she'd sounded faintly bitter, and Julian had felt guilty. He hadn't wanted to usurp Delon's affections, no matter how much he appreciated them. Delon and Palis had filled holes in his being in ways that he could not have put into words. They'd been close. Sometimes Julian had wondered whether it was Palis he was in love with, or the whole family.

But, in the end, Julian had turned his back on Palis, Delon and everything that Delon had offered. He'd broken Palis's heart and, from the look on Delon's face, he could see that the passage of years had done nothing to lessen Delon's anger or his sense of betrayal. Plus, now added to that were the recent revelations and...

_"If he really hated you, you'd know."_

The words echoed down the years and, seeing the way Delon's eyes glinted, Julian did know. He felt his palms moisten and his mouth dry with nerves. His pulse and respiration rate quickened, and he tried again to use the necessary biofeedback mechanisms to calm himself down.

"I believe you'll find that they're right on time." The words, spoken by a tall man who was probably somewhere in his mid-thirties, drew Julian's attention out of the past and back to the present, and Julian belatedly noticed that there were two more people in the room with them.

The tall man looked at Julian with detached disinterest and introduced himself as Caspar Lynch. He was, he explained, the Medical Standards Board's secretary, and his role was to chair the Directions Conference, taking those present through the preparations and procedures for the tribunal. Lynch then introduced the others, apparently for Julian's benefit rather than anyone else's, as they all seemed to know each other already.

Piers Hunter was the Investigating Officer who had recommended that Julian had a case to answer. Hunter would be Dinmont's counterpart at the tribunal. Finally, he introduced Delon. Julian didn't need the introduction, and he wondered whether Lynch was simply observing formalities or whether he was unaware of their shared history.

Introductions out of the way, Lynch invited everyone to make themselves comfortable around a large table and, once everyone was settled, he called the meeting to order.

"The tribunal is scheduled for next Tuesday, and will be held in the city hall in San Francisco," said Lynch. "The hearing will take place in front of a panel of twelve medical practitioners, chaired by Monsieur Delon. The names and biographies of the panel members are detailed here." He paused, and passed around a stack of PADDs.

Julian cast his eyes down the list. Most of the names were unfamiliar to him, although he recognised a couple as authors of journal articles he'd read and one—Henri Roget—leapt out at him. Henri Roget had won the Carrington Award the same year that Julian had been nominated.

"The hearing will follow the usual format," Lynch continued. "Monsieur Delon, as chair of the panel, will start the proceedings by making opening remarks and introducing the rest of the panel as well as the defendant, the defendant's representative, and the MSB's representative." He gestured towards Delon, Julian, Dinmont and Hunter as he spoke.

Heads nodded around the table.

"I take it," he said, directing the question at Julian, " you are aware that the hearing will take place in public?"

"Yes," said Julian, and he swallowed at the thought of it.

"Good... Moving on... Once the introductions are completed, the chair will read out the charges against you." Again, Lynch gestured towards Julian. "After that, Mr Hunter will present the complainant's case on behalf of the MSB. Ms Dinmont will be allowed to cross-examine any witnesses he presents."

Delon and Hunter both looked bored, undoubtedly having heard Lynch's spiel countless times in the past. They whispered to each other, fidgeted, stared at the ceiling, picked at their fingernails, and generally did all they could to be distracting without actually disrupting the meeting. Mind games, Julian thought, and he did his best not to be rattled by them.

"Next, Ms Dinmont will present evidence in Bashir's defence. Hunter will be allowed to cross-examine any of her witnesses. Finally, both parties, starting with the complainant, will make closing remarks, and the panel will recess to consider its decision. Once the panel has agreed on a course of action, the chair will convey that decision to the defendant in public. Any questions?"

When there were none, Lynch moved on to asking what evidence Hunter proposed to present at the tribunal.

Hunter smiled like a man who enjoyed his job far too much, and, with the grace of a panther stalking its prey, he handed out PADDs to everyone. "My submission is here." There was a lull in the conversation while Lynch, Dinmont, Delon and Julian all scanned Hunter's document.

Julian read through the report in seconds, although, through force of habit, he kept his eyes glued to the PADD for longer than that. He absorbed the import of what he'd read while he waited for the others to catch up with him.

Hunter's submission started with a paragraph stating that, by the admission of both Julian and his parents, Julian Bashir was an Augmented human. This was further evidenced by the findings of the doctors at Starfleet Medical, who had documented that Julian's mental and physical abilities exceeded human norms. It then continued with a review of medical orthodoxy relating to the genetically enhanced and a summary of the laws that should have applied and that Julian had broken.

The legal position, Hunter asserted, was clear. The law prevented all genetically enhanced beings from accessing higher education, from joining the professions, including medicine, and from joining Starfleet. Without the deal struck by Rear Admiral Bennett, the offences Julian had committed could have earned him a custodial sentence and, as such, they warranted disciplinary action on the part of the MSB. The submission ended by concluding that there were clear grounds for disciplinary action, including the removal of Julian's name from the register of medical practitioners.

Hunter's evidence was clear, succinct, irrefutable and damning, and Julian was taken aback when Dinmont dropped her PADD disdainfully on the table, frowned, and said, "Is that it?"

"What more do you want?" asked Hunter. "The case against your client is cut and dried. I see no reason to waste time on petty details."

"I'm sure we'd all be delighted if you could keep your arguments equally succinct," said Delon.

Lynch frowned. "Ms Dinmont may take as long as is required to put forward Bashir's case. Protocol and process demands nothing less, and I will frown on any attempts to undermine the defendant's rights."

Julian saw Dinmont flick a grateful glance in Lynch's direction. She took a steadying breath, and then she said, "As you will see, I wish to be more...thorough...than my colleague."

Hunter bristled. "I've been thorough," he snarled. "There simply isn't the need to waste time on additional detail. The evidence is quite clear." He scowled as he looked around the table. "Bashir is guilty of all the charges. End of story."

Stiffly, Dinmont said, "An acknowledgement of guilt does not preclude the defence from arguing a case on the grounds of mitigating circumstances."

"Waste of time," muttered Delon quietly enough that Julian wondered whether anyone else had heard.

"Hah!" spat Hunter. "Mitigation? That's another way of saying you are going to make excuses, but wrong is wrong, however you look at it."

"That's enough," said Lynch primly. "Save your grandstanding and arguments for the tribunal. Ms Dinmont is quite correct; she has the right to base her arguments on mitigating circumstances rather than on a claim of innocence."

Hunter scowled. "You and your processes! We'd save a lot of time if you'd simply let us cut to the chase instead of miring us in all your details!"

Lynch pursed his lips. "Being thorough saves time in the long run; it reduces the number of cases that get to appeal."

"Gentlemen," said Delon, raising his hands. "As interesting as this all is, you are digressing, and I, for one, have other places to be. So if you would please keep to the point...?"

Lynch nodded in Dinmont's direction. "Do you have your list of evidence?"

"I do," said Dinmont, and it was her turn to hand PADDs around.

Julian listened to Dinmont at the same time as he looked at the dossier of information she'd managed to pull together and the list of evidence she proposed to present. In addition to suggesting that Julian and Sisko appear in person, she had gathered written statements from Miles O'Brien, Jadzia Dax, Major Kira, the Bajoran Government, and Julian's medical staff, including Nurses Jabara and Bandee, and Dr Girani. Julian hoped his surprise didn't show. He was touched that all these people were prepared to come forward and support him. Dinmont had also attached an annotated bibliography of his journal articles and conference papers.

How had she managed it? Then he realised that Sisko must have had something to do with it; it was just the latest in a long line of things that Julian had to thank him for.

The Conference wound up soon after that, and barely five minutes later, Julian found himself back in the elevator with Dinmont.

Safely behind its closed doors, Dinmont started muttering as they descended. "Smug...overconfident...arrogant..."

Julian wondered whether she was talking about Delon or Hunter.

He felt depressed. Why were they going through this charade? Why was he fighting, when he knew that he was in the wrong? Did he really hold out any kind of hope that they might win, or was he doing this just to keep his promise to O'Brien? He'd calculated the odds, and he didn't like them.

But, maybe, just maybe, he didn't have all the facts. Maybe he didn't have all the information he needed to make an accurate prediction. He hoped he didn't, because, if his calculations were accurate, his days as a licensed physician were numbered.

He interrupted Dinmont's muttering. "Tell me," he said. "And, please be honest. Do you think that there's any chance of our winning?"

Dinmont fell silent, looked at him, and bought herself some time by brushing a couple of errant strands of hair from her face. Then she began nodding. "Hunter and Delon are overconfident. We can use that against them."

He hoped that she was right.

-=o=-

Julian returned to New Orleans to find that there was a crisis in the restaurant. John had unexpectedly handed in his notice with immediate effect, Tina had called in sick, and Joseph hadn't been able to get hold of anyone to cover. As a result, the restaurant was short-staffed, and on one of the busiest nights of the week.

"I'll help," said Julian.

"You sure?" asked Joseph doubtfully. "It'll mean being front of house all night."

Joseph's words gave Julian a moment's pause. Julian understood what Joseph was getting at. He'd have to deal with strangers, and, as Joseph had learned more about Julian's situation, Joseph had come to realise that strangers weren't always kind. But Julian nodded and said, "It'll be all right. Besides, it's the least I can do, after everything you've done for me."

Joseph considered Julian carefully enough to make him feel uncomfortable. Then he said, "I'm not keeping a tally. You do know that, don't you?"

Julian nodded again, although he wasn't entirely sure that he did. "I want to help," he said.

"All right. The replicator will supply you with a shirt in your size, along with an apron."

Julian returned a few minutes later, having donned dark trousers, a white cotton apron, and one of the brown patterned shirts that Joseph's waiting staff wore. Joseph gave him a quick once over and said, "You'll do."

Despite his, and Joseph's, concerns, Julian didn't encounter any problems. In fact, he found waiting on tables to be mildly soothing. The activity calmed his mind, and the only people who paid him much attention were Jonas and Felicia, who greeted him warmly and asked what he'd done to earn such rapid promotion. Otherwise, Julian was surprised at how easily people's gazes slid over the waiting staff, almost as if they weren't there at all. He found being ignored a pleasant change from being shouted or stared at.

When Sisko came home, he sized up the situation, quickly washed up, and then went to help in the kitchen.

At the end of the evening, after Joseph had closed the doors on his last customer, he, Julian, Nathan and Sisko collapsed at the table nearest the serving hatch. Julian planted his elbows on the table, then rested his chin in his hands. He looked at Sisko, smiled wearily, and said, "I've developed a huge respect for Quark's staff this evening. God knows how they keep up their pace all day long!"

"You did very well," said Joseph. "If all else fails, you can always have a job here."

Julian shot him a glance, unsure whether he was joking or not.

Joseph lifted his hands in a mute apology. "I'm sorry. I know your situation isn't a laughing matter. But, all kidding aside, you'll always be welcome here."

"Well," said Nathan. "I'm pooped, and I need to get home. Shanna will be wondering where I am. I'll see you all tomorrow."

A chorus of goodbyes followed him to the door.

Sisko looked at Julian and said, "How did it go, today? I haven't had a chance to ask."

Julian thought about Lynch, and his pedantic attention to detail, of Hunter, whose job it was to go for the kill, and Delon. Julian had put names and faces to roles, and he'd learned more about how the tribunal would be conducted, but little had happened that he couldn't have predicted. In fact, the most surprising thing had been the witnesses that Dinmont had found. "Dinmont has managed to put together an impressive dossier in my defence. I think I have you to thank for that?" Julian looked at Sisko, his face a question.

"How so?" asked Sisko, his eyebrows rising.

"How else could she have convinced Jadzia and the major and the rest to give statements on my behalf?"

Sisko smiled warmly. "All I did was suggest a few names. None of them needed convincing, as you put it. They were all happy to help."

"Oh," said Julian, taken aback. He absorbed that piece of information, and he knew he'd come back to it later. Meanwhile, he said, "Other than that, things went pretty much as expected, I think. The date of the tribunal has been set, and they ran through all the procedures." He shrugged again. "And Monsieur Delon was there, and he really doesn't like me."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

When Julian materialised at the designated beam-in point, Karen Loews was waiting for him. He glanced around quickly, taking in the details of his surroundings. The transporter room was small, in a purpose built structure. He could hear rain hammering against the roof and the gurgling of gutters and drains, and he caught glimpses of pine trees and mist through the windows.

Loews and Julian exchanged pleasantries as he stepped off the transporter pad. Then she held out a heavy oilskin and umbrella that matched her own, and said, "I thought you might want these."

"Thank you."

Once Julian had put on the waterproofs, they left the building, securing the door behind them, and began the walk up to the Institute.

The transporter shed they'd just left was on the edge of a lake. For the most part, the forest reached down to the shoreline, though Julian thought he could make out the occasional clearing, jetty and property. It was hard even for him to see, because the heavy rain muted the colours and detail of the landscape, and low cloud hid the tops of both the conifers and the mountains he knew lay beyond. The weather was miserable, yet the landscape had an ethereal beauty that appealed. Had he not known what lay ahead of him, he could almost have fancied Washington State an attractive holiday destination.

As they turned their backs on the lake to follow a track, Julian caught his first glimpse of the psychiatric facility in the distance. The Institute was an imposing building, a gothic pastiche nestled in a clearing in the forest. It could just as easily have been a fantasy castle or a hotel. Nothing about it suggested that it was a secure unit, designed to keep its residents separate from the rest of society. The beauty of the place, juxtaposed with its function, was jarring, and Julian felt a shiver crawl up his spine.

"I thought a few months here would be good experience," Loews said, apparently oblivious to the effect the building was having on him, "and that it would stand me in good stead before my next posting. But there's something about this place... It gets under your skin. At least, it's got under mine, and I'm going to stay on."

Julian hoped that he wouldn't be around long enough to find out if what Loews said was true. The last thing he wanted was for the Institute to get under _his_ skin.

Julian knew that the Institute was, nominally at least, a civilian institution. However, some of its staff, like Loews, were Starfleet personnel. In practice, therefore, the Institute was an oddly ambiguous facility, neither wholly military nor wholly civilian, with its governance arrangements never clearly defined. Karen Loews hadn't been posted to the Institute; she'd been seconded. But that was merely a matter of semantics. Like a good officer, she'd been told to go, and she'd gone. She'd followed her orders.

Julian's footsteps slowed.

"What is it?" asked Loews.

"There's a forcefield up ahead."

"Yes. How did you know?"

"I can hear it."

"You can...?" Then she shrugged. "I don't know why I'm surprised. You could hear the protestors from inside the Medical building, after all."

"That was different," said Julian. "That was about my sensitivity to volume. This is about being able to hear the frequencies." He changed the subject as he made himself start to walk once more. "Can you tell me about your patients again?" he asked, at least as much to distract himself as out of genuine curiosity.

Although she glanced at him, and he guessed she knew what he was doing and why, Loews went along with the shift in conversation. "Well... There is Patrick. He's the oldest. According to his records, he was sent to the Institute when he was nine, so he's been institutionalised for the best part of fifty years. Unfortunately, it shows in his behaviours. He's almost childlike, probably in part because of the lack of social skills he's been able to develop. He's also overly emotional and very nervous. To be frank, were he anyone else, he would have been supported to live in the community. Arguably, he should never have been institutionalised in the first place. But the laws on genetic enhancement being what they are..."

Julian nodded. He understood.

"Then there is Lauren. Again, the main reason she ended up at the Institute was because of her legal situation, rather than for any real psychiatric one."

Julian felt his stomach clench. There but for the grace of God...

"That's not to say that Lauren wouldn't have any problems living in the community. She does show some inappropriate behaviours, particularly with regard to the opposite sex, but I believe they could have been mitigated with proper support. Wait here a moment."

Two stone markers flanked the track. Julian stood still, while Loews tapped her comm badge and said, "Computer: identify Loews, Karen. Command code alpha-omega-1732."

A computer voice echoed out of nowhere. "Verified."

"Release forcefield. Ten seconds. Entrance A2."

"Forcefield released. Ten-nine-eight..."

"Come on," said Loews, waving Julian forward as she passed between the markers. It took more effort to comply than he'd expected, but he made himself walk between them.

"...two-one-forcefield reactivated," said the computer.

Loews picked up the threads of their conversation as though the interruption had never happened. If only Julian found it so easy! The thought of being trapped inside the forcefield bothered him more than he'd thought it would. Invisible it might be, but he could hear it, and it was just as ominous to him as stone walls or steel bars would have been.

"The other two, Jack and Sarina, have more serious problems. Jack is unpredictable, and he can be violent. Plus, he has no concept of personal space. Sarina is a sweet woman, but her treatments left her cataleptic. The doctors who did her enhancements increased the neuronal activity in her cerebral cortex, but they didn't increase the number of synaptic pathways that connect her cortex to the visual and auditory nerve centres. As a result, she can't process the information collected by her senses. Although she can carry out some basic tasks, she's essentially cut off from her surroundings."

Julian was very conscious of the gravel crunching underneath the soles of his boots, and his feet grew heavier the closer they got to the front door. Why had he agreed to this? What had made him overcome common sense and venture into the proverbial lion's den?

He swallowed and told himself not to be ridiculous. If Loews or Starfleet Medical, or anyone else, for that matter, had wanted to lock him up, they'd have done it already, probably at phaser point. They wouldn't have needed to resort to the subterfuge of luring him here, and, just because someone in Starfleet had kidnapped him once didn't mean that it was going to happen again.

He would spend an hour or so with Loews's patients, get to know them a little, and satisfy his curiosity. Then he would leave, and he would be able to breathe freely once more.

His heart beat faster as they climbed the steps up to the front porch. He waited while Loews placed her palm on a touch pad and leaned forward to allow her retinas to be scanned.

The front door silently swung back to admit them. Julian braced himself and stepped over the threshold.

Loews began to shuck off her oilskins and indicated that Julian should do the same. "You can hang them in here," she said, taking him into a small, fuggy drying room, where dozens of similar coats and hats hung from pegs. There were even several pairs of gumboots and galoshes, things that he'd only ever come across in storybooks.

Loews caught his astonishment and said, mildly amused, "What can I say? It rains here. A lot."

Julian nodded. "I guess I've just got too used to the controlled atmosphere on the space station."

When they'd hung their oilskins up, Loews said, "This way." She led him across a vast expanse of tiled hall, then through a set of heavy doors. They walked along wide, bland corridors. Julian couldn't help but notice that she had to release every set of doors with her palm print. The atmosphere inside the building stoked and amplified his unease and made his skin itch. Loews might have grown to like it here, but she was free to come and go as she wished, and she seemed oblivious to the effect that every additional door that locked behind them was having on him.

He hadn't expected to be so affected by the security here, to find himself remembering how it had felt in Camp 371 and to feel the walls of solitary pressing in on him. The memories blended with his nightmares and made his unease grow.

They walked up a flight of stairs and along a gallery that overlooked a recreational space. Julian glanced down on the inmates, some seated alone, others in groups, the noise of their activities and talk distorting and echoing as it bounced off the walls and ceiling.

At the end of the gallery, they passed into a corridor. Loews drew to a halt outside a nondescript door some fifty yards further along. "Ready?" she asked.

"As I'll ever be," said Julian, forcing a small, tight smile on to his face.

"All right then." Loews rang the door chime and then, without waiting for an acknowledgement, palmed the door open.

She walked in. Julian hung back, waiting to be invited. It was Loews who called him forward, not the room's occupants, and he wondered just how inauspicious a start that was.

Inside, the room was larger than he'd expected. Probably, it had once been several separate rooms that had subsequently been joined together. There was a table, some alcoves with beds in them and, in the middle, dominating the space, a large divan on which lounged a woman. Lauren, Julian surmised.

He didn't need introductions to identify each of the inmates. Lauren's and Sarina's body languages set them apart from each other. Patrick was clearly identifiable on account of his age, and that just left Jack. Loews made introductions anyway.

Lauren leered at him from the divan. Jack and Patrick circled him.

"He's frightened. He doesn't like it here," said Patrick.

The hairs on the back of Julian's neck prickled. How did Patrick know? Julian hadn't said anything, and he'd done his damnedest to keep his expression neutral.

Lauren's voice was sultry as she said, "He's scared that he's going to be made to stay."

"He doesn't want to be with us. He wants to be back in the world, living like them." Jack spat the last word. "He doesn't want to be with the clever people."

Julian felt his eyes widen. How transparent was he, if they'd all seen through his façade?

"You lived out in society."

"You hid among the normal people."

"Your family didn't throw you away. You'd have been here, with us, if they had."

"You lied about your genetic status."

The barrage of statements unnerved him. He felt as though he was under a microscope, being dissected molecule by molecule. Yet, refreshingly, there was no underlying subtext of fear or judgment about their questions, just aggressive curiosity mixed in with jealous resentment. All the while, Sarina stood on the edge of the action, giving no indications as to whether she understood any of it. Karen Loews seemed helpless, unsure whether to intervene or to let the drama unfold.

"What can you do?"

"What did your parents have done to you?"

Julian answered the questions in vague terms, then reflected them back at the others, doing his best to ignore the fact that Jack was crowding him, pressing into his personal space.

Julian wanted to take a step back, but something told him that would be a bad idea. Loews might think that Jack had no concept of personal space, but Julian suspected that Jack knew exactly what he was doing. He was testing Julian, just as he had undoubtedly tested Loews.

"Where are your parents?" That was Jack.

"My father's in prison. My mother's in England, I guess."

"Don't you know? Why don't you know?"

Julian managed to refrain from shrugging. "I suppose I don't know because I haven't checked," he said.

"My parents were arrested, and I was brought here," said Lauren.

"My parents turned themselves in," said Patrick. "They never came back for me." His faced screwed up into an expression as exaggerated as anything ever contrived by a street mime. His lips turned down and his eyes scrunched closed, tears leaking at their corners. Julian tried not to stare.

As much to divert his own attention away from Patrick as anything else, Julian asked, "Sarina?"

"She won't answer you," said Jack.

"Her parents ran away. They left the Federation, and they left her behind," said Lauren.

"What about your family, Jack?"

"It's a secret. Yes. Yes. That's right. It's a secret."

-=o=-

Talking to the other genetically-enhanced humans was like playing a racquetball match with multiple players. The conversation bounced around, attacking him from all directions.

Once he got used to it, Julian discovered that he almost liked it. It was challenging, and kept him on his toes. He parried one volley after another, and the conversation sped up.

Loews faded into the background. Sarina hovered, perhaps, or perhaps not, listening.

"You lied. You passed for normal. What does a normal person do?"

"I'm a doctor."

"You don't seem sure about that," said Patrick, easily reading Julian's doubt. All signs of Patrick's earlier misery had vanished as though they'd never been. "You look unsure. You sound unsure."

"Why is that?" asked Lauren.

"Yes, why? Why?" pressed Jack.

"I may not be a doctor for much longer," said Julian.

"Ah! Because you were found out!" suggested Lauren.

"Because you're a mutant, and mutants aren't allowed to do anything," said Jack.

Mutant. That was a new one for Julian, but Julian found he liked it more than Augment, or any of the other words that have been applied to him recently. Perhaps it helped that it was the word that the others had adopted to describe themselves. He found himself nodding. Somehow, the statement didn't hurt so much, coming from them.

Julian found himself as curious about their lives as they were about his. He glanced around at their Spartan accommodations, and he wondered how they managed to fill their days. He found himself asking, "Do you ever go into the grounds?"

"We're not locked in here, you know."

"We're allowed in the grounds."

"Sometimes we go out."

"Not today, though."

"It's raining today."

Julian thought about all the doors Loews had had to release in order to pass through the building, and he wondered what all that security was for, if not to prevent the patients from moving around. In any case, even if the mutants could get into the grounds, they couldn't go beyond the forcefield.

Julian thought back to Internment Camp 371. There, the inmates had been allowed a similar degree of freedom of movement within the facility, but they'd still been prevented from leaving. It had still been a prison.

Plus, when he'd overstepped the limits of what the Jem'Hadar and Vorta had considered acceptable behaviour, he'd been punished. Julian had learned the hard way that there were differing degrees of freedom, and that freedom could be easily curtailed, from one minute to the next. He shuddered.

"They couldn't keep us in here," said Lauren quietly, and Julian had the distinct impression that she was trying to comfort him. "Not if we really wanted to leave."

"Nowhere is truly a prison, if you can escape it," said Jack. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned forwards, his chin jutting out pugnaciously. "What would you know about being locked away, anyway?"

Julian shivered. "More than I'd like."

Patrick's eyes widened with realisation. His voice conveying wonder, he said, "You've been locked up. You've been imprisoned."

"Where were you locked up?" asked Lauren.

"Why?" demanded Jack. "Why were you locked up?"

"It wasn't because of your enhancements," said Lauren.

"If it had been because of your enhancements, you would have been here with us," reasoned Patrick.

"If it had been because of your enhancements, you wouldn't be free now," said Jack.

Julian swallowed. He didn't feel free, not having passed through so many locked doors. "I—"

"He's upset," said Patrick, his face falling into the folds of overstated sympathy.

Lauren leaned in and stroked his arm, a gesture that disconcertingly blended sexuality with maternal sympathy. "Tell us about it," she cooed in a sultry voice.

Julian tried again. "The Dominion... I was kidnapped. I-I spent over a month on a prison asteroid in the Gamma Quadrant. If we hadn't escaped, I'd still be there."

"What was it like?" demanded Jack.

"Was it very horrible?" asked Patrick.

"Yes," said Julian, and he realised that he'd never before admitted that to anyone. In all his previous conversations, with Telnorri and Loews and his colleagues on Deep Space Nine, he'd skirted around the truth.

"What was it like? Tell us! Tell us!" insisted Jack, apparently unaware how insensitive he was being. Lauren and Patrick looked at Julian expectantly, managing not to join in with Jack's clamour, but showing hungry curiosity all the same.

Julian closed his eyes, allowed the memories to surface, and he began to talk. He told them about the barracks and the gladiatorial circle, about patching up Martok and, later, Worf, and about holding Garak together as Garak put in place the final touches to Tain's escape plan. He talked about their rations and being hungry, about punishments and solitary confinement. He described the grey walls, floors and ceilings, the pervasive smell of must and sweat and grime. He told them about the Cardassians, the Romulans, the Breen and the Klingons who'd been imprisoned with him, and about the Vorta and the Jem'Hadar. He described his hopes and fears and nightmares, and his hands and voice shook, and the mutants sucked up all the details avidly.

He remembered, but managed not to voice, how the homemade tool had felt in his hand and how he'd ripped the throat of a Jem'Hadar open, taking and saving a life at the same time and—

He pulled himself out of the memories. He felt Loews's eyes on him, and he slowly turned his head so that he could meet her gaze and defy her to feel any pity for him.

-=o=-

"Captain Sisko?" said Ensign McCauley, whispering quietly in his ear. "There's an urgent communication for you. It's your father."

"Excuse me," said Sisko to the room in general, as he got up to follow the ensign. A million thoughts cascaded through his head. Had something happened to his father? His mind painted ever blacker pictures: his father had been taken ill; his father had collapsed; his father had died...

His father was waiting for him at the other end of the commlink, his worried face peering into the lens.

Sisko felt almost dizzy with relief. Whatever had happened couldn't be that bad, because his father was all right.

Joseph spoke. "We've got trouble."

Sisko could hear banging and crashing and yelling in the background, and Joseph had to raise his voice to make himself heard. "I've called the police, but they're taking their own sweet time getting here."

"Dad? What's going on?"

"Riots! Anti-Augment riots! Thank heavens Julian's not here!"

Glass shattered, and Sisko saw his father duck out of view as something—a brick or a rock—sailed through the window. In the background, someone screamed. "I'm on it," said Sisko hurriedly. "And I'll be with you as soon as I can. And Dad? Be careful!"

The transmission cut off abruptly, before Sisko got a chance to hear Joseph's reply.

Sisko tapped his comm badge. "Sisko to security. We need a detail to deal with civil unrest in New Orleans." Then, as soon as that communication had been acknowledged, he tapped his comm badge again and gave another command. "One to beam to these coordinates," and he rattled off a familiar string of numbers.

-=o=-

Julian hadn't noticed when Loews left the room, but he noticed when she came back because she touched him lightly on his shoulder to attract his attention. Quietly, she said, "I've just received a message. All transporter movements have been temporarily suspended."

"Suspended?" exclaimed Julian, his paranoia momentarily spiking before he told himself that there was probably some perfectly innocent explanation. "Why?"

"I don't know."

"Can we turn on the news to find out?"

"We don't get the news here," said Lauren.

"Why not?" asked Julian.

"Why not?" mimicked Jack bitterly. "Because we're not allowed to be part of the world is why not."

To Julian, Loews said, "Come with me."

Making apologies to the others, Julian allowed himself to be led from the room and down yet another set of corridors. As they walked, she said, "I was surprised that you told them so much about the prison camp. You haven't been that forthcoming with anyone else. What was different today?"

Julian considered his answer. Being at the Institute had stirred up emotions and memories, bringing them close enough to the surface that the mutants had easily pricked them out of him. Finally, he said, "They wanted to know, and they weren't sympathetic and...and I thought they might understand."

Loews nodded slowly and thoughtfully. "They got more out of you than either Telnorri or I managed in weeks of working with you."

Julian's lips tightened, then he said, "You've both been trained to talk about difficult subjects. But...something about this place... They have to live it. Everyday."

Loews considered him, and he got the impression that she hadn't seen things in quite that way before. When she spoke again, she changed the subject, although he could see how the one connected with the other. "In the holosuite..." she said invitingly.

"It wasn't real," said Julian. "It wasn't the same thing at all." He spoke abruptly and firmly, trying to shut the conversation down.

Loews persisted. "Security tried to make it seem real."

"And I thank any god that might be listening that they didn't succeed." He took a deep breath. "I never want to go back to the internment camp. Nor to that holosuite, either, for that matter. Now, if you don't mind, I don't want to talk about it any more."

"All right," said Loews, but Julian suspected that she'd only temporarily dropped the subject.

"Why don't they have access to the news?" he asked, partly as an excuse to change the subject.

"The head of the Institute thinks it might be dangerous."

"Dangerous, how?"

"He feels that knowing about current affairs might...overstimulate them."

"You told me," he said to Loews, enunciating carefully, "that their intellectual needs weren't being met when you arrived here, and that you'd separated them from the rest of the population as a result."

"Yes. So?"

"So, their needs are still not being met!" His irritation and frustration began to leak out. "The only stimulation they get is from interacting with each other!"

Loews didn't reply, but she looked uncomfortable in the face of his accusations. She said, "In here," and led him into a small, utilitarian office.

Loews settled herself in front of the computer console and Julian stood behind her, looking over her shoulder. "Computer," said Loews, "confirm and explain the reason for the suspension of transporter movements."

"Continental suspension of all public transporter movements confirmed," said the computer. "Cause: security precaution in light of civil disturbance."

"Computer," asked Julian, "what is the location of the civil disturbance?"

"Disturbance reported on North American continent, south western quadrant, Louisiana. Specifically city of New Orleans.

Julian's curiosity segued into trepidation. "Computer," he said carefully, "what is the cause and nature of the disturbance?"

"Disturbance catalysed in response to reported presence of Augmented human within the vicinity. Status of disturbance now escalated to civil unrest with riots."

Julian looked away from the computer monitor. He didn't mean to catch Loews's eye, but he couldn't help it as she was looking up at his face, worry in her eyes. She turned back to the console and said, "Computer: do we have any visuals?"

"Accessing... Planetary satellite feed available." Then the computer screen lit up with live images captured from above.

Together they watched the standoff between a crowd and a few other people, who had made a human wall in front of Sisko's restaurant.

Julian felt sick. It wasn't just what the riots implied about him. It was also that he'd brought this upon Joseph Sisko. The restaurant was under attack because of him, and the irony was, he wasn't even there!

-=o=-

Sisko materialised on the street scant seconds before he was joined by a handful of security guards. Strictly speaking, Starfleet didn't have jurisdiction here, but Sisko hoped that their mere presence would discourage the unrest. Besides, Starfleet had a certain amount of leeway in such matters and, if the police didn't turn up, he was sure Starfleet's intervention would be justifiable, possibly even welcomed.

Standing on the restaurant's front steps, Felicia was arguing loudly and fiercely with one of the rioters. The argument appeared to have turned into a spectator sport. Jonas stood behind her, agreeing with every point she made, while the rioters bayed and howled, trying to drown her out and cheering at everything their own guy said. Joseph, Grant and Nathan blocked the front door, and Shanna, who'd stayed inside with some of the waiters, peered through the broken window. Through the gaps in the crowd, Sisko caught his first glimpses of graffiti on the walls. The words he could make out were more varied in colour and vocabulary than Belen Amoruso had used back on Deep Space Nine, and he felt his anger rise on both his father's and Julian's behalves.

Awareness of the new arrivals rippled through the crowd, manifesting in a wave of quiet, which was followed by murmurs and then a return to the previous noise levels.

Then, from the other end of the street, Sisko heard the hum of massed transporter beams. He looked towards the source of the sound and saw silver sparkles coalescing into black-clad human figures.

The New Orleans police had finally arrived.

Holding interlocking riot shields in front of them, the police advanced along the street in formation. Sisko was struck by how old-fashioned a technique that was; back when he was at school, he'd learned how Roman legions, some two-and-a-half-thousand years before, had used similar techniques. He cast the random thought away as inconsequential.

Those few pedestrians who had lingered to rubber-neck the disturbance scurried out of the way of the police, but Sisko could see that necks craned further out of upper storey windows to afford the heads attached to them better views of what was going on.

Suddenly, a woman's voice echoed loudly in the street canyon. "You can disperse quietly, or we will arrest you."

The police were giving the rioters a choice? The rioters had committed criminal damage, but they were being allowed to simply walk away? What kind of justice was this?

The kind, Sisko realised, that tacitly permitted the persecution of someone because they were different.

-=o=-

"Something's wrong."

"What's wrong?"

The mutants had managed to read his body language again. Julian thought it was almost uncanny, the way they did that. He wondered where they'd picked up that particular skill, isolated as they had been from so much normal social interaction.

Julian didn't want to talk about it, but how could he not spend time explaining the situation to his new acquaintances? Didn't they deserve to know? To have their questions answered? So he told them about the restaurant, about the Siskos, and about the riots. Their frame of reference had been narrowed so much by the limits imposed upon them that it took Julian some time. Then they badgered him with questions.

"It's true, then? People hate us?"

"People don't know you," said Julian.

"People hate people like us?"

"Yes," said Julian softly.

"Because we're better than them?"

"Because we're different. Because we've been enhanced."

"Why do people hate us for what was done to us? We've done nothing wrong," said Lauren.

Belligerently, Jack said, "We've nothing to apologise for."

"The people who did this to us should apologise, if anyone should," Lauren agreed.

"Stay here with us," said Patrick. "You'd be safe here. We tell each other everything; we tell everyone else nothing. It's fun."

"You wouldn't have to see or talk to them ever again," mused Lauren. "But maybe you wouldn't like that. Maybe you like being able to talk to normal people."

"He doesn't want to be safe here," said Jack. "He doesn't want to be hidden away with us."

Julian felt ashamed of himself, but what Jack had said was true. His response was visceral, physical. He felt agitated, clammy, as though ants were crawling under his skin and he desperately wanted to leave. He wanted to get back to New Orleans and put things right with Joseph. Without thinking, he said, "I need to get back there."

Lauren, Patrick, Jack and Loews stared at him.

"Are we sure that he's a mutant?" asked Lauren.

"That's a very stupid thing to say," said Patrick, looking directly into Julian's face.

"Is it? Why?" Julian asked.

"Because your presence there would serve no useful purpose. If anything, it would make the situation worse," said Lauren.

"It would be provocative. Yes, yes. Provocative," said Jack.

Julian knew that they were right, no matter how wrong it felt.

"He's not as bright as us," said Jack disparagingly.

On the basis of everything he'd seen today, Julian thought that was true. He found himself nodding in agreement, and he mused that it was an unusual sensation, being with people who were cleverer than he was, and who challenged him.

-=o=-

It was past six o'clock on the west coast by the time Julian was given the all clear to travel. The rain had stopped and Julian could hear the constant plip-plip-plip of water dropping from the tree branches and leaves as he and Loews made their way down the hill, back to the transporter shed.

The sky and the lake were still grey, but the clouds had lost their earlier leaden quality, and the cloud base was now above the tree line. The air was filled with birdsong, and Julian caught a glimpse of a hoary marmot off to his right.

Julian felt the tension in his shoulders ease with every step he took away from the building.

Loews broke the silence. Invitingly, she said, "They responded well to you."

"Well, they responded," said Julian sceptically.

"Any response at all is positive," she said.

Julian sighed. "They were suspicious. Antagonistic. Argumentative. And you think that's good?"

"Yes, I do. They engaged more with you today than they have with me in the whole of the last six months put together." She paused, turned to look at him, and said, "Besides, look at it from their point of view. How would you have reacted?"

Julian considered the question. In the last few weeks he'd grown suspicious of everyone he'd met, worrying about their reactions, their attitudes, and their motives. The only place he'd been able to relax at all was in New Orleans. "You've got a point," he said.

They walked a little further, then Julian said, "Did you know that Sarina's family had left Federation space? That they'd run away and left her behind?"

"No," said Loews.

"Then how did Lauren know? You said that Sarina's cataleptic, that she can't talk. But she and the others are communicating with each other somehow. You might want to look into that."

Loews stared at him, and he wondered how she had never noticed before. Probably it hadn't crossed her mind. Plus, by her own admission, the four mutants had engaged with him more fully than they'd ever engaged with her.

-=o=-

The restaurant was eerily and uncharacteristically quiet. There was no hissing steam coming from the vents in the kitchen wall, no clatter of pots, no raised voices as Joseph or Nathan barked out orders, and there was no underlying chatter from the clientele.

Julian pushed open the back door and walked inside. The kitchen had been abandoned, and the air was dry, cool and still. Julian recognised that all the culinary work had stopped abruptly, probably about an hour before lunchtime opening. Julian walked past the kitchen island, which was littered with chopping boards and basins of half-prepared vegetables, and the counter, which was covered with seafood platters that were empty apart from the pools left by long-since-melted ice.

His heart sinking, he walked into the restaurant, his footsteps loud in the silence. The chairs had been stacked on top of the tables and the floors swept, but Julian could still see the last vestiges of the damage in the sacks of debris that were waiting for the recycler, and he could smell the fresh putty from where the windows had been replaced. He swallowed dryly. He'd caused this. The restaurant—Joseph's pride and joy—had been attacked and had had to close because of him.

Grant walked in through the front door, running a hand through his hair. He saw Julian, who was standing in the middle of the room, and said, "The transporters are working again, then?"

Julian nodded wordlessly.

"Joseph says you're not to go out front. You're to stay indoors until someone tells you otherwise."

"Why?" asked Julian. "The rioters have gone, haven't they?"

"Yes, but—"

"It's safe outside?"

"Yes, but—"

"What did they do?" Julian asked flatly. What was worse than this? What was so bad that Joseph didn't want Julian to see it? He strode to the front door, determined to find out.

Grant danced in front of him, protesting. "Julian! You're not to go out front!"

Julian shook his head. "Please. I have to know. I have to see."

Grant regarded him carefully for a moment, a thoughtful crease etching itself between his eyes. Then he said, "All right," and stepped aside. "At least tell 'em I tried to stop you."

Julian nodded. "I will."

He put his hand on the old-fashioned door handle. He turned it. Pulled the door back, and stepped out onto the street.

Joseph, Nathan and Sisko were all hard at work, variously brandishing scrubbing brushes, pressure hoses and paint sprays. But Julian could see the words they hadn't been able to obliterate yet.

He stared and forced himself to hold the worst of his reaction inside: his hurt; his anger that Joseph, who had only ever been good to him, had been punished for his kindness; guilt; shame...

"Julian!" exclaimed Sisko. He put down a power washer and joined Julian on the sidewalk. Then he said, "Come on. You don't need to see this."

Julian wanted to scream, "You can't protect me from my own life. You can't hide it from me!" But, instead, he merely said, "I had to know."

Sisko looked carefully at Julian for a few seconds, then said, "All right. In that case, you might as well pick up a brush and help."

Julian put his back into attacking the obscenities and insults, channelling all his emotions into his work. He closed his eyes and scrubbed and scrubbed—

He jumped when Joseph put a hand on his shoulder and said, "You'd better stop before you wear the wall away. We can paint over the rest in the morning."

Julian blinked owlishly at the wall and saw that the once-bold letters had faded under his ministrations. They were still legible, but they were now worn and pallid.

"Come on. Come inside."

Julian staggered upright and followed Joseph.

Sisko thrust a glass of—Julian sniffed—whisky into his hand. "I didn't think coffee or tea would quite cut it this evening."

Julian knocked the whisky back and winced gratefully as it hit and burned his mouth and stomach.

"You okay?" Sisko asked.

Julian nodded, though he felt anything but. His arms ached, and the words jangled in front of his eyes every time he closed them, and it wasn't his restaurant that had been trashed, or his livelihood that had been put on hold.

He'd liked the restaurant. He'd liked the people and the place and the work, and it had been a sanctuary, and he'd been happy for the first time in a long while. He should have known that it was too good to be true. Joseph and his staff had only ever been kind to Julian, and look at what his presence had brought them in return!

He should have known!

He should have stayed away. He could have protected them from all this.

He still could.

-=o=-

Someone knocked on the door to Julian's room, then, without waiting for a reply, opened the door. Julian glanced up and saw Joseph.

"What do you think you're doing?" Joseph demanded as he came in, although, from the open holdall and the clothes dumped onto the bed, it was obvious.

"Packing," said Julian. "I've caused you enough trouble already. I don't want to cause you any more." He deftly folded a shirt and put it in the bag.

"Well, stop right now!" Joseph sounded angry, but Julian didn't know why. Shouldn't Joseph be happy to see him go, after what had happened? Julian paused, looked at Joseph, then began folding again.

Joseph walked forward, put his hand on Julian's arm, and said, "Stop."

Julian stilled, hands suspended in mid-motion. He looked at Joseph, his expression a silent question.

"You don't have to leave. We _want_ you to stay."

"You...do?" Julian could hear the confusion in his voice and feel it in the knot at the back of his throat.

"Why does that surprise you?"

Julian didn't answer. Answering would mean voicing his innermost thoughts and fears, revealing personal truths that the habits of a lifetime told Julian to keep buried.

Joseph sighed. "Ben said to treat you like one of family. Well, family doesn't give up on each other when the going gets tough. We're here for each other, through good and bad, and right now it's very bad for you, and you need us. And we're here for you. I know you don't understand that. But trust me on this." Then, for the second time, he said, "We want you to stay."

Julian stared at him. "I..." He felt his way around the bed, staring at Joseph all the while, then he sat down heavily. "Thank you." He ducked his head and blinked.

Joseph moved to sit beside Julian and put his arm around Julian's shoulders. Julian wasn't used to this kind of casual, affectionate touch and he wasn't sure what to make of it. It was...nice, and somehow it made him feel just a little bit warmer and a lot less alone, and it made him want to blink some more. "I'm sorry," Julian said softly.

"What for?"

"For...everything."

"You've nothing to be sorry for."

"But—"

"Did you trash my restaurant? Did you invite them here?"

"No, but they came here because of me."

"And they left because of me. And Nathan. And Shanna. And Jonas and Felicia and Grant. You are a guest in my home. You are welcome here. And I won't have you leave because of some half-witted bigots who know nothing about you."

Julian blinked some more and chewed on his lower lip. The protestors and rioters had reinforced the ingrained belief he'd carried for years that he was a monster, but the more tolerant attitudes of the captain, Joseph, Nathan, Dr Loews and others, along with the memories of his friends on Deep Space Nine dared him to wonder.

He savoured the comforting weight of Joseph's arm around his shoulders and marvelled that Joseph wasn't repulsed by him.

Julian knew he was a freak, at least by human standards, but somehow, the word didn't sting quite as much as usual. He still thought what had been done to him was wrong, abominable. But he was beginning to recognise the double-edged meaning of "freak". It could be an insult. It could merely be the truth.

Julian said, "I can't believe that you'd want me to stay."

"Then we'll just have to work on that, won't we?" replied Joseph.

-=o=-

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

I can't find anywhere that gives a definitive answer to the question, where is the Institute? Thus, because it suited my purposes, I've put it on Earth.

Thanks again to everything reading, reviewing, favouriting and following. I know I've said it plenty of times before, but I really appreciate your interest and support.

**Next week:** Julian's disciplinary tribunal begins...


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

"Julian! Will you stop pushing your food around and eat something!"

Julian jumped in his chair and jerked his head up to stare, wide-eyed, at the source of the reprimand. "S-sorry," he said. "I'm just...not very hungry."

"I know you're nervous," said Joseph more gently, "but worrying about the tribunal isn't going to help, and you need to keep your strength up."

Julian speared a piece of bacon, lifted it to his mouth, and began to chew. He forced himself to swallow. "Better?" he asked.

"You tell me," said Joseph, patting him on the back in approval and then walking away.

Julian didn't feel better. The bacon had almost choked him and now it sat like a small brick in his stomach. His brain knew Joseph was right: there was no point in worrying. But, at the moment, his brain wasn't communicating very well with his body, and none of his favourite biofeedback techniques were working.

He cut another piece of bacon and managed to pick it up before he gave up on it. He sighed and put his cutlery down, arranging the knife and fork neatly together to indicate that he was done.

When he came back, Joseph looked at Julian with disappointment, but he didn't chastise him. Instead, Joseph swapped Julian's abandoned plate for a mug of tea and said, "At least drink this."

Julian picked up the mug and sipped. The tea was only marginally easier to swallow than the food had been, and so he was perversely relieved when Sisko appeared and said, "Come on. We'll be late, if we don't get a move on."

Julian nodded and forced himself to take one last, hasty gulp of tea before he set the mug down. Then he stood up. His legs felt watery, almost as if they didn't belong to him and he wondered how he was going to get through the day ahead.

Julian and Sisko prepared themselves for, and requested, transport. The last thing Julian heard, as the beam grabbed him, was Joseph calling out, "Good luck!"

-=o=-

They materialised in the middle of a wide expanse of well-manicured lawn, in front of a building that was over four hundred years old. Julian knew that San Francisco's old city hall dated back to the early twentieth century, Earth calendar, since which time it had survived wars, a few proposals for redevelopment of the site, changes of use and several major earthquakes.

These days, the building was advertised both as a tourist attraction and a conference facility, available for public events and private parties alike. It was a very popular venue for weddings, although today, the key attraction was to be Julian's disciplinary hearing. The combination of subject and location was guaranteed to draw in the crowds.

People were already beginning to congregate outside, and Julian recognised some of the faces. He had to suppress a shudder as he realised that, at least for today, the protestors had relocated from outside Starfleet Medical.

Resolutely, Julian forced himself to straighten his back and focus only on his destination. He walked forwards and then jogged up the building's front steps, grateful for the solid and silent presence of Sisko beside him.

Inside, the building was quiet and cool. The air was still, and dust motes danced in shafts of sunlight. The décor was imposing, with high ceilings, and floors, walls and pillars clad in pale marble.

Looking very small and insignificant against the backdrop of a dramatic, sweeping staircase, Dinmont waylaid Sisko and Julian. She led them through the building, towards the chamber where the tribunal hearing was to take place.

Just outside the chamber's doors, Julian spotted a familiar, once-cherished, face. She was sitting alone on an old wooden bench that could easily have seated six, her posture as perfect as he remembered. "Palis!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

Palis stood up, all grace and elegance. "Actually, I was hoping to run into you. Papa said you'd be here today."

Julian nodded, acknowledging her words. He couldn't think of anything to say, so he settled for simply staring at her. She stared back, her eyes holding none of the warmth or laughter he remembered. Beside him, Dinmont and Sisko paused, waiting for him.

"Julian?" asked Sisko.

Julian rediscovered the power of speech. "Palis is...an old friend," he said, looking at Sisko. "Please...give me a moment. I'll catch up."

Sisko nodded, albeit slightly dubiously, and Dinmont said, "Don't be long."

"I'll only be a minute," Julian promised.

Sisko and Dinmont disappeared through the doors, leaving Palis and Julian alone. They stared at each other some more. Finally, Julian mustered up some words. "So...how have you been?" His words felt lame and stilted, and he wished he could have come up with something better, more original and fluent.

Palis didn't answer. Instead she said, "When you left me, you told me a lot of bullshit about how it wasn't about me, it was about you. Only...it wasn't bullshit, was it?"

"No. It wasn't." Julian shook his head. "I wanted to tell you about...me. I even started to, once or twice. But after... several conversations...with you...and your parents...I knew that I couldn't."

He wondered how much she remembered, caught, as he often was, by doubts about the capabilities of normal human memory. What could she remember of incidents that were etched so clearly in his own mind? Would she even know what he was alluding to, let alone remember the words and nuances of the various discussions?

Palis nodded, and Julian took that as an acknowledgement that she did, at least, have some idea of what he might be referring to.

"Tell me...if I had told you back then...would it have made a difference to us?" he asked.

Palis looked at him. More than anything, Julian wanted to hear a reassurance that she would have accepted him, no matter what. He would even have settled for her saying something like, "We'll never know, will we?"

He didn't want to hear what she actually said, which was, "Yes, it would have made a difference. But you knew that already. Otherwise, you would never have chosen to leave me."

"And now? Why are you here?"

"I guess I wanted closure. I wanted to see you again, to see how I could have been taken in. Whether I should have known that there was something wrong with you."

Wrong. The word stung. He hoped the pain he felt didn't show on his face. "And...?"

She looked at him, her expression cold and hard. "You look the same as you ever did, except older. And more miserable."

She turned and walked away, leaving him staring at her back and feeling shaken and bruised.

As he made his way into the chamber, he wondered whether her timing had been deliberately spiteful or merely thoughtless. He walked the length of the room, his thoughts separated from the present by both time and space. Memories came flooding back, a distraction when he needed to be focussed.

-=o=-

_Palis draped her arm around Julian's shoulders, and she wheedled, "What are you doing?"_

_"I'm working on an assignment."_

_"Well, put it away and stop being Mr No Fun. We've only got an hour before I have to go to rehearsal." She wrapped her arms more tightly around him, leaned in, and kissed his cheek. Then she moved on to his mouth._

_Julian pulled back as best he could. "I can't," he said. "I really need to get on with this."_

_Palis withdrew and stood up straight. He could feel her offended gaze drilling in between his shoulder blades. "You've never chosen an assignment over me before."_

_"This isn't just any assignment."_

_"And I'm not just any diversion."_

_Julian sighed, turned in his desk chair, and looked up at her. "No. You're not. But this is for my Medical Law and Ethics course. And the professor hates me."_

_Palis laughed unsympathetically. "Oh, come on! I don't think there's a professor alive who doesn't love you. You're always top of the class. The star pupil."_

_"Not this time," said Julian. Even to his own ears, he sounded miserable._

_"I don't believe it."_

_Was it so hard to believe that he mightn't excel at everything? The question made him uncomfortable. He didn't want to excel. Didn't want to be perfect, at least not all the time. Perfection wasn't normal and, above all else, he wished he could be normal._

_He liked having to struggle, although he was quickly learning that there was a huge difference between struggling to succeed and struggling but failing anyway, and he was in grave danger of failing Medical Law and Ethics. _

_If he failed, all the lies and subterfuge that had got him this far would have been for nothing. Unless he passed the course, he wouldn't be allowed graduate. Without it, he couldn't become a doctor._

_He wanted to be a doctor! He had wanted it enough to lie and cheat his way into medical school. _

_"What is the assignment, anyway?" asked Palis, dragging Julian's thoughts back to the conversation. She leaned over, grabbed one of the PADDs off his desk, glanced at it, and said, "Genetic enhancements? Julian, why are you reading this?"_

_"I told you. It's for an assignment."_

_"But it's so..." Palis shuddered._

_"So, what?"_

_"It's disgusting! It's foul!"_

-=o=-

Foul. The word hung in his memory as he took his seat next to Dinmont at the defendant's table.

The chamber had been designed to impress, and, today, its contents had been arranged to intimidate. The table, set out for the defendant and his counsel was a lonely island in a sea of emptiness. It was mirrored by another table on the other side of the room, which had been set aside for the Investigating Officer. Hunter wasn't called a prosecutor, but that was just another vagary of semantics. Maybe this wasn't, strictly speaking, a court of law, but it felt like one: scary and imposing.

Several chairs had been reserved for the few witnesses who were scheduled to appear. Behind these, row upon row of seats, taking up over half of the room, had been put out for members of the public.

Normally, medical tribunals didn't attract much interest. Today, however, the public seats were steadily filling with journalists, gawkers and tourists. Julian swallowed nervously.

At least he could draw a little comfort from a couple of friendly faces. Karen Loews sat behind Captain Sisko. She was leaning forward, and their heads were so close together that they almost touched as they shared a murmured conversation. Sisko looked up, caught Julian's eye, and smiled in encouragement. Julian couldn't quite bring himself to smile back, but he lifted his hand in a lacklustre wave by way of acknowledgement.

Julian looked around some more, and he spotted a few other faces he recognised. There was Elizabeth Lilienfeld, the journalist who had interviewed Shadow Minister Shiva Ghazi.

His hackles rose as he spotted Commander Roughsedge, who was seated at the back of the room. As he watched, Palis claimed the empty seat next to her. Julian quickly looked away.

Two seats further on was a slender blonde woman, dressed in Starfleet red, wearing the three pips of a full commander. Julian frowned slightly, sure that he'd seen her somewhere before, although he couldn't quite place her.

Julian also recognised a handful of demonstrators who had managed to infiltrate the audience. Thankfully, they didn't have any placards with them today, and, so far at least, they'd refrained from chanting. There was also a handful of Starfleet officers, including Doctors Tsonga and Crane, all wearing the teal of medical personnel. They might all have had genuine professional reasons for wanting to be present, although Julian doubted it.

Julian wondered who all the other people were, and he fervently wished that they were somewhere—anywhere—else.

The room filled until there was standing room only. The assembled crowd filled the air with incoherent chatter, and the atmosphere crackled with palpable excitement. It made Julian's stomach knot. How could people find entertainment and pleasure in his plight? Did they have no empathy? He needed to stop torturing himself, and so he tore his eyes away from the spectators. He turned around and looked determinedly towards the front of the room.

There was movement at a side door, and the twelve-person panel began to file in. They climbed up the steps to the stage, and Julian found himself automatically attaching names to faces. There was Abdul Jallab...Paula Sowrey...Elliot Schwartz...Susan Oded...Olva Ylem...

He found himself paying particular attention to Henri Roget, the man who'd beaten him to the prestigious Carrington Award. Roget was stooped and slow, and he moved as though his joints pained him. His hair was thin and white, but his eyes were sharp and alert.

So focussed was Julian on Roget, that he almost missed the remaining panellists: Andrea Airlie; Ulrika Jasinka; Johan Zdeb; Elias Huysamer; Monica Shetcliffe; Rafael Lorca.

Pierre Delon, as Chair, brought up the rear.

The panel's arrival prompted everyone in the room to stand, creating a thunderous rumble of feet hitting the floor, accompanied by the sound of chair legs scuffing against the ground. Then a wave of silence rippled through the audience, with conversations stopping abruptly or petering into hasty whispers before snuffing out completely.

Delon waited until the room was completely silent, then he gestured for everyone to sit down. Again there was the rumble of chairs and movement.

From the stage, the panel's members could look down on lesser mortals, and Julian was reminded of a mural he'd once seen, while on a trip to Italy. There was something about being able to see the panellists' feet now, just as the disciples' feet had been visible in the image, that made him think of Leonardo Da Vinci's _The Last Supper_.

Finally, only Delon remained standing. He looked down and around, his eyes passing imperiously over everything and everyone. Then he began to speak.

"Welcome to the lovely city of San Francisco, and to this disciplinary tribunal hearing, which is being conducted by the Medical Standards Board of the United Federation of Planets. Thank you all for coming here today."

Julian couldn't help but feel that there was something incongruous about the welcome, which seemed more appropriate to the opening remarks of a conference or a wedding, or even, possibly, a funeral. Then again, maybe this would be a funeral of sorts. Maybe this marked the burial of his medical career.

He shook the thoughts away, and tuned back into what Delon was saying.

Delon had moved on to introducing all the key players. He outlined Hunter's and Dinmont's roles, and he pointed Julian out, and where he was seated. Then Delon explained that witnesses would be called to appear one at a time, as the hearing progressed, and would be introduced as and when they took their position at the witness table. Witnesses, he said, would be free to leave the proceedings after they'd given their evidence and had been cross-examined, or they might remain to watch the rest of the proceedings, if they preferred.

Delon paused, took a deep breath, then said portentously, "The purpose of today's meeting is to review the facts of the case against Julian Bashir and decide what disciplinary action should be taken against him."

Julian started and he stared, wide-eyed, at Delon. That hadn't been Julian's understanding of the hearing at all. "What disciplinary action should be taken" suggested that he'd already been judged, his fate already determined. True, in his more pessimistic moments, he'd feared that might be what would happen, but he'd assumed that at least the language of the proceedings would suggest otherwise. Wasn't the hearing supposed to be about establishing facts and considering _whether_ any disciplinary action should be taken?

Suddenly the task ahead seemed gargantuan.

Julian lowered his head and listened as Delon ran through the order of proceedings. At least there were no surprises there. Hunter would outline the MSB's case; Dinmont would then present her counter-arguments. Both parties would end by summing up their cases, the panel would adjourn to consider its decision, and then Delon would announce what had been decided. "And," said Delon lightly, as he finished, "if we deal with matters in a suitably expeditious manner, we'll be done and dusted in time for afternoon tea." He smiled at his own joke, and there were a few polite titters from the audience.

When the room had quietened again, Delon gestured towards Hunter and said, "You may proceed with your opening remarks," and sat down.

Hunter stood up, cleared his throat ostentatiously, and began to speak. "All Augmented humans are forbidden by law from training for a career in, and from practicing, medicine. Julian Bashir trained as a doctor at Starfleet Academy, from where he graduated five years ago. Since that time, he has practiced medicine in his role of Chief Medical Officer on the space station Deep Space Nine. Julian Bashir is an Augmented human. He broke the law. This case is straightforward. In training and practicing illegally, Julian Bashir has broken the UFP's code of conduct for its medical practitioners. If we condone his actions, then we bring our profession into disrepute. The case against Julian Bashir is clear-cut, as I will demonstrate. His punishment should reflect the gravity of his actions."

Hunter's statement had been short, but definitely not sweet, thought Julian, as he watched Hunter sit down.

"Ms Dinmont?" said Delon. "You may proceed."

Dinmont stood up. Like Hunter, she also cleared her throat but, in her case, there was nothing ostentatious about it. Rather, it seemed necessary for her to get her voice to work. Her opening comments were even shorter than Hunter's.

"The defence admits that Julian Bashir broke the law. However, we do not believe that he has brought the profession into disrepute. On the contrary, we argue, and we will show, that Julian Bashir has been a credit to the medical profession. He has developed a well-regarded practice, and his research has contributed to knowledge. The greater good would be served by allowing him to continue to practice."

"Now," said Delon, when she was done, "we can move on to the next part of the proceedings: the presentation of evidence. Mr Hunter: over to you."

Hunter rose and said, "Monsieur Chair. Esteemed panel. I do not have any physical witnesses. However, I have several written statements that I request be read out for the edification of all those present. These documents set out clearly and irrefutably the evidence against Julian Bashir."

Delon nodded as he said, "Continue."

"Thank you, Monsieur Chair. First, I wish to read the report I prepared as Investigating Officer in this case."

Delon waved his hand in a leisurely, almost languid, manner. "Proceed, Mr Hunter."

Julian had known what was in Hunter's report but, read aloud, it sounded even more damning than he remembered. Worse, one couldn't cross-examine a report in the same way that one could a person. Then again, how could anyone argue with the truth? The facts _were_ irrefutable. And damning. And embarrassing.

Next, Hunter requested the panel's permission to read a short statement from Dr Tsonga, which was, he said, to be considered in conjunction with the more detailed—nay, comprehensive—report that Dr Tsonga and his most esteemed colleagues had prepared for Starfleet Medical. Hunter gestured towards the gallery, where Tsonga and Crane were sitting. They stood to let themselves be seen, took little bows, and sat down again. Several people applauded them, their claps sounding desultory in the more general quiet.

"Objection," said Dinmont, rising to her feet. "Neither Dr Tsonga's original report nor this statement was disclosed at the Directions Conference. The guidance for these proceedings clearly states that no new evidence may be presented at this stage unless—"

"I am familiar with the guidance, Ms Dinmont," interrupted Delon repressively. "However, given the exceptional nature of this case, I am prepared to allow it. Objection overruled."

Julian looked around and, for the first time, he realised that Caspar Lynch, that stickler for procedure and process, was nowhere around. He wondered where Lynch was and whether, had he been present, he would have protested.

Dinmont sat down, her lips twisted in irritation.

Slowly, ponderously, and savouring every last syllable, Hunter read out Tsonga's statement. "Julian Subatoi Bashir is an Augmented human, aged thirty-two years. He was genetically enhanced at the age of six, using techniques that are outlawed throughout the Federation. Prior to Augmentation, Julian Bashir appears to have been—"

"Objection!" Dinmont was on her feet again. "'Appears to have been'? This is conjecture, not fact, and therefore inadmissible."

"Conjecture that is based on information provided to Dr Tsonga's team and to Counsellor Telnorri, on Deep Space Nine, by Julian Bashir, himself," said Hunter. "Moreover, there are no official records that would support or refute Dr Tsonga's assertions. This is the best—most reliable—information we have available...unless you know something that I don't."

"Objection overruled," said Delon.

Dinmont sank back into her seat, her lips even tighter and more twisted than before.

Hunter backtracked. "Prior to Augmentation, Julian Bashir appears to have been of small stature and of below average intelligence. By his own admission, Bashir struggled to grasp basic concepts, and he underperformed in comparison with his peers. If the areas of Augmentation are any indication of what his parents considered in need of 'fixing', then we may conclude that, pre-enhancement, Bashir suffered from poor eyesight, under-developed musculature, limited physical stamina, and below average motor skills and coordination. Since Augmentation, many of Julian Bashir's mental capabilities can no longer be measured using human standards, and those that can lie at the outer limits of the humanly possible. His IQ is off the human scale. Mentally, he can no longer be described as human based on any measurable definition for the species."

Julian wanted to cringe. He'd already known everything that Hunter was saying, but to have it presented in so public a manner! All his life, Julian had wanted to be normal. Now, to have it spelled out in such stark terms that he wasn't, never had been, and never could be, hurt. The hurt was compounded by avid stares from the public gallery, and he wished that he could shrink away, that he could suck himself into invisibility.

Not for the first time, Julian wished that his parents could have accepted him as he'd been born. Hell, even to have been enhanced so that he could have passed for normal would have been better than this!

"Similarly, his physical attributes challenge classification using human norms. He has enhanced auditory and visual acuity, and enhanced stamina and reflexes." Hunter looked up from the text for a moment, glanced around the room, and then continued reading.

"Bashir's differences are compounded by his atypical developmental trajectory. Most children acquire social skills as they grow up. Bashir did not. He missed the normal developmental milestones of learning to cooperate and take turns, of learning to distinguish between right and wrong. He missed the natural acquisition of morals and values, and, while he appears to mimic cultural norms and seems to exhibit empathy and emotional awareness, we cannot assume that he claims ownership of them."

Julian swallowed uncomfortably. There was some truth in the material Hunter was presenting. Julian had struggled to acquire social skills, but the conclusions Tsonga had drawn were wrong. Julian did have moral values, and empathy, and a true sense of right and wrong, and he hated the idea that people might believe otherwise, that all they would see was this...thing, this...aberration...this manufactured abnormality in human form. Now, thanks to Tsonga's statement, read aloud for all to hear, everyone knew just how unnatural he was.

"In summary, Julian Bashir is not human when compared to the species norm, his enhanced mental and physical attributes lying consistently a minimum of three standard deviations away from average."

Julian wondered, what must they all think? What must Sisko think, now he knew precisely what he'd allowed into his father's house?

Hunter moved on to request the panel's consent to allow him to read out a statement from one of the Federation's foremost legal authorities. Again Dinmont protested, arguing that this statement, too, had not been disclosed at the Directions Conference.

Delon said, "Objection overruled. The material contained within this statement isn't new. Rather, it simply corroborates the material already presented in the Investigating Officer's report."

Dinmont tried again. "If there is no new information in the statement, then I move that there is no reason for it to be presented at all."

"Motion denied. Mr Hunter, you may continue."

Thus, Julian, and everyone else, had to hear again the full details of how Julian, in his effort to become a doctor, and since qualification, had broken the law every day for well over a decade.

Then there followed statements from Dr Zimmerman, relating to the circumstances surrounding the discovery of Julian's genetic status, and from Rear Admiral Bennett, confirming the content of the plea bargain he'd struck with Richard Bashir. Both times, Dinmont objected on the grounds of no prior disclosure of the evidence, and, both times, Delon overruled her on the grounds that there was no new evidence, merely corroborating material.

With each overruled objection, Julian felt Dinmont's confidence wane, and with it waned his own. He felt twisted and sickened as all his flaws and failings were laid bare for the whole Federation to see.

Finally Hunter was done. He'd exhausted his material, and suddenly it was Dinmont's turn to take centre stage.

-=o=-

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Thank you for reading (and reviewing and favouriting and following; you know who you are!).

Next chapter: the conclusion of Julian's tribunal.


	14. Chapter 14

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** I don't have much to say other than all the usual thank yous, and I hope that you all enjoy the chapter. As always, I appreciate your interest in my story, and your support.

-=o=-

**Chapter Fourteen**

Dinmont began presenting Julian's side of the case by calling Sisko to the witness table. He sat down and rested his hands, palms down and his fingers splayed out on the surface.

Delon looked down from the stage and said, "For the record, please state your name and the capacity in which you know the defendant."

Sisko inclined his head in acknowledgement. "My name is Benjamin Sisko. I am a captain in Starfleet, and I am the commanding officer of both the Bajoran space station known as Deep Space Nine and the USS Defiant. I have been Julian Bashir's commanding officer since he arrived on Deep Space Nine. Dr Bashir took up his post as Chief Medical Officer on stardate 46390.1, a position he has held since that date. More recently, he has also taken on the additional role of CMO aboard the Defiant."

"Thank you, Captain." Delon turned to Dinmont and said, "You may begin."

Dinmont said, "Captain Sisko, as his commanding officer, give us your assessment of Julian Bashir's performance as Chief Medical Officer."

"Dr Bashir came to Deep Space Nine straight after graduation from medical school. He built up the infirmary from nothing to the point where the facility now has a reputation for excellence across the sector. Dr Bashir is efficient and dedicated. He works hard, manages the infirmary well, and has additionally found time both to carry out research and to do voluntary work at several Bajoran orphanages. In short, I count myself extremely fortunate to have him under my command."

"Has Julian Bashir, at any time, failed to meet the standards you would expect from an officer under your command?"

"No. On the contrary, Julian Bashir has exceeded expectations, and he has received a number of commendations for his performance."

"Can you elaborate?"

"With pleasure." Sisko seemed to warm to his theme. "Most recently, Julian Bashir received commendations from both Starfleet and from the Bajoran Government for the role he played in foiling a Dominion plot to destroy the Bajoran sun. Prior to that—"

"Objection," said Hunter, rising to his feet. "As...laudable...as Bashir's actions may have been, they can have no bearing on this case because they do not relate to his activities as a medical practitioner."

Dinmont said, "I am trying to paint a picture of my client's behaviour. His actions speak well to his character."

"Objection sustained," said Delon. "Ms Dinmont. Captain Sisko. Please restrict your comments about Bashir's commendations solely to those that relate directly to his medical practice."

Julian could tell that Dinmont wasn't happy about that stricture. However, she reined in her frustration and said, "Captain?"

"Dr Bashir has received commendations and citations from the Bajoran Government for the work he has done with orphans on Bajor. Starfleet commended him for his work relating to the biogenic disease colloquially known as the Quickening, which the Dominion has used as a weapon against its opponents in the Gamma Quadrant. He has been recognised by Starfleet Medical, which nominated him as the template for the new Long-term Medical Hologram—"

"A programme which subsequently had to be suspended because of his genetic background," interjected Hunter.

"The programme did not have to be suspended—"

"Captain," warned Dinmont. "You don't have to respond to Mr Hunter's comment."

Sisko inclined his head. "But I would like to, if I may."

Dinmont nodded infinitesimally, and Julian suspected that she wasn't happy that Sisko was going "off script".

Sisko continued. "Dr Zimmerman chose to recommend that the programme to develop the LMH be suspended in preference to recognising that Julian Bashir is a credit to his profession, a fact that is true, irrespective of his background. The revelation of his genetic status does not change the fact that he is an accomplished doctor. All that has changed is how others choose to perceive him. I, personally, choose to see the competent, dedicated professional. That Dr Zimmerman did not was his loss and, consequently, Starfleet's."

If Julian was reading Dinmont's body language correctly, she was relieved by Sisko's words and that he hadn't said anything damaging to their case.

Dinmont continued her questioning by saying, "In your opinion, Captain, does anything about Dr Bashir's genetic status call into question his fitness to practice medicine?"

"No. He has my full confidence."

"Thank you, Captain."

Delon looked at Hunter. "Do you wish to cross-examine this witness?"

"Yes. Thank you." Hunter got up and stepped around to the front of his table, where he stood silently for a good thirty seconds, stroking his chin. He waited, making a performance out of his behaviour, then he asked thoughtfully, "What was your reaction when you found out that Bashir was genetically enhanced?"

"I was...surprised," said Sisko.

"Is that all? You weren't concerned? Frightened?"

"I was not."

"Why not?"

"Because I knew him."

"Not very well, by all accounts."

"What do you mean by that?" asked Sisko carefully. Next to him, Julian heard Dinmont tut quietly. He wondered why, then he realised that, by engaging in a natural-sounding exchange, Sisko had given Hunter the upper hand.

"Is it not true that Bashir was recently kidnapped by the Dominion and replaced by a Changeling?"

"Yes, that is true."

"And, is it not also true that neither you nor anyone else on Deep Space Nine noticed the substitution?"

"Yes." Sisko glanced at the defence table.

Julian looked down, wanting to hide his reaction. He didn't want Sisko, Hunter, or anyone else, to realise just how raw a nerve Hunter had hit.

Dinmont interjected, "Objection! What is the relevance of these questions? Julian Bashir's time in the Dominion camp surely has no bearing on the current case."

Hunter looked at Delon and said, "Monsieur Chair, Captain Sisko is here to act as a character witness for the defendant. However, I wish to demonstrate that Captain Sisko does not know the defendant well enough to provide informed evidence. He didn't notice that Bashir had been substituted for over a month. Even then, he only found out about the substitution because Bashir escaped and thus revealed the presence of the imposter. I submit that Captain Sisko didn't know the defendant well enough to recognise the substitution. Nobody on that space station did. We should, therefore, question the reliability of his evidence, along with that of everyone else on DS9."

Julian closed his eyes and held them closed for several seconds. This was a disaster! And...it wasn't true. It wasn't! None of them had noticed the substitution because the Changeling's impersonation had been almost faultless. Julian had to believe that, because the idea that no one had known him well enough to notice a flawed substitution played into too many of his insecurities.

Julian screwed up his eyes and bunched his hands into fists and he told himself over and over that Hunter had got it all wrong. He forced himself back into a state that came closer to calm, forced himself to open his eyes and hands, and then he made himself to watch the unfolding events.

Delon nodded at Hunter. "I believe that your questions are justified. You may continue."

Hunter flashed a quick, self-satisfied smile, then said, "I have no further questions."

Delon looked at Dinmont. "Do you wish to re-examine this witness?" he asked.

"Yes," said Dinmont. She considered Sisko for a moment or two, then she said, "The Bashir Changeling was not the only Changeling to have infiltrated Starfleet, was it?"

"No."

"And the general consensus about these infiltrators is that we cannot readily identify them, can we?"

"No."

"So, that you didn't recognise the substitution is consistent with the other substitutions that we know about?"

"Yes."

"And...possibly...those that are going on now, without our knowledge?"

"Yes."

"Indeed, the Changeling infiltrations, because of their effectiveness, are of grave concern to Starfleet and the Federation, aren't they?"

"Yes."

"So, no matter how well you knew the defendant, you would have been most unlikely to detect the substitution?"

"Yes."

"In other words, your failure to recognise that Julian Bashir had been kidnapped and replaced should not be taken as an indication that you don't know him well enough to comment on his character."

"No. It should not."

Julian felt profoundly relieved when he heard Sisko's words. His heart slowed and his shoulder muscles released, and he felt almost reassured.

"Mr Hunter asked whether you were frightened when you found out about Julian Bashir's genetic background. You said you were not."

"That's correct."

"Would you please tell the panel where Julian Bashir is currently staying?"

Julian glanced at Dinmont, startled, then he looked at Sisko in time to see Sisko raise his eyebrows, apparently as surprised as Julian by the question. "He's staying with me, in my father's house, in New Orleans."

"You're a family man, Captain. You would not permit someone you thought could be a danger to your loved ones into your family home, would you?"

"No," said Sisko. "I would not."

"And...you are happy for Julian Bashir to stay in your family's home?"

"Yes, I am. As is my father."

"Thank you. I have no further questions."

Delon looked at Sisko. "You may step down, Captain."

-=o=-

Next, Dinmont called Julian to the witness table, where he sat, determinedly not giving in to his urge to squirm. He hated the feel of all those eyes on him, prejudging and dissecting him. He sat up straighter and more stiffly than normal, and waited for the questioning to begin.

"For the record, please state your full name."

"Julian Subatoi Bashir."

Dinmont started by saying, "You would like to make a statement to the panel, would you not?"

"Yes," said Julian.

"With your permission," said Dinmont to Delon.

"Oh, very well," said Delon with bad grace. "But you'd better keep it short."

Dinmont nodded to Julian, encouraging him to proceed.

Julian swallowed, took a steadying breath, and began. "I was genetically enhanced when I was six years old, although I did not find out what had been done to me until I was a teenager. I freely admit that I am guilty of hiding my genetic status and of the charges that have been made against me by the Medical Standards Board. I wish to apologise for my...wrongdoing. However, I also wish to ask for lenience from this panel. I believe that I have much to offer to the profession."

Julian fell silent, and Dinmont nodded infinitesimally at him. Then she glanced at the panel before she turned back to him and said, "You were twenty-seven years old when you took up your post as Chief Medical Officer on Deep Space Nine, were you not?"

"Yes."

"You were the youngest CMO in Starfleet?"

"Yes."

"Objection," said Hunter. "Relevance?"

"Julian Bashir's achievement in obtaining such a post at so young an age is evidence of his effectiveness as a medical practitioner."

"Or," said Hunter, "it is simply a reflection of how desperate Starfleet was to fill that particular vacancy. Ask Bashir how many other people requested that posting."

Delon leaned forward and said to Julian, "How many?"

Julian glanced at him and said, "None."

"So," said Hunter, "Bashir's achievement of the rank of CMO is open to interpretation. It may either be seen as a notable achievement by a...precocious...young talent, or it may be seen as an act of last resort by Starfleet."

"Sustained," said Delon. "The panel will disregard Ms Dinmont's argument."

Dinmont sucked her lips around her teeth as she planned her next move. Then she said, "Since you have taken up the post of CMO, you have been responsible for the medical care of residents and visitors to the station."

"Yes."

"Can you tell us about your patient list and practice profile?"

Julian inclined his head slightly. This was an area of questioning that he could answer easily and with confidence. "At last count, I had a regular patient list of eight hundred and forty-three individuals, drawn from twelve species. However, the station has the capacity to house over two thousand three hundred persons. The number of residents has dropped from a high two years ago because of the changing political climate."

"You are referring to the Dominion threat, I presume?"

"Yes."

"How many staff do you manage?"

"Eight."

"And you are the only doctor assigned to the station?"

"I am the only doctor permanently resident on the station, yes. However, Dr Girani, from Bajor, works part-time on DS9, and also provides cover when I'm away from the station, for example, when I'm aboard the Defiant."

"Or here, on Earth?"

"Yes."

"How many other staff are under your command?"

"I have five full-time nurses attached to the infirmary and two Starfleet officers assigned to the sickbay on the Defiant."

"What, in your opinion, have been the greatest challenges of your posting?"

Julian leaned forward slightly in his seat and said, "The Cardassians took whatever equipment and documentation they could when they evacuated DS9, and, what they couldn't take, they destroyed _in situ_. We had to rebuild the station from the inside out, to find ways to repair and work with non-standard equipment, and find ways to interface Cardassian technology with our own. In addition, I have had to understand and negotiate the differences arising from working in such a multi-cultural environment. I've had to learn that Federation norms may not always apply within the context of other societies."

Delon cleared his throat and interrupted. "Ms Dinmont, this is all very interesting," he said in a tone that suggested he thought it anything but. "However your questioning appears to be more of a time wasting filibuster than any kind of reasoned argument. Is there a point to all this interminable detail?"

Dinmont straightened her shoulders and looked directly at Delon. "I'm trying to paint a picture," she said. "Julian Bashir has achieved a great deal in the few years since he qualified. I wish to demonstrate not only the contributions he has already made to the profession, but also that he has the potential to make many more. He is an asset to the medical community, and his activities enhance its reputation, rather than—as he has been accused of—bringing it into disrepute."

"Mr Hunter?" asked Delon. "Would you care to comment?"

"The amount of detail does appear excessive," Hunter said. "Moreover, while we might conclude from this discussion that Bashir has contributed to the profession, the same could be said of any other competent practitioner put into a similar situation. In any case, his performance is not key to the current case. I suggest that we simply acknowledge that he has performed adequately, and move on."

"Agreed," said Delon. He nodded at Dinmont to continue.

Dinmont had to marshal her thoughts, and there was a palpable pause before she picked up her questions again.

"Before the increased threat from the Dominion that you mentioned, DS9 experienced a range of new first contacts, did it not?"

"Yes."

"And you catalogued, researched and treated these species?"

"Yes."

"And, in so doing, you have added considerably to the Federation's xenobiology database."

"I, and my colleagues, yes."

"In fact, you have, over the last five years, added more information about sentient life-forms to the Federation's medical database than any other doctor, have you not?"

"Yes."

"That's quite some contribution to knowledge," she commented, glancing at Delon and the rest of the panel. "You have also contributed more to our understanding of the Jem'Hadar than anyone else. You discovered their physiological dependence on Ketracel White, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Objection," said Hunter, rising yet again from his chair. "While this is all terribly illuminating, Bashir's...activities...in these areas do not relate directly to his medical practice. The documentation of new species and the research into the Jem'Hadar's addiction could just as well have been carried out by a competent scientist. They are not relevant to the current proceedings."

"Mr Chair," said Dinmont, "these achievements were carried out by my client as part of his responsibilities as CMO. They have provided the foundation for any future treatment protocols that will be offered to these species. They are directly relevant."

"I do not see us treating Jem'Hadar patients any time soon," said Delon. "Objection sustained."

Julian saw Dinmont's knuckles show white as she clenched her fists in frustration. However, she took a deep breath, forced herself to relax, and ploughed on.

"You have submitted a list of your journal articles and conference papers as evidence. Please can you take us through the research that—"

"Objection," said Hunter, who hadn't even bothered to sit down since his last interjection. "This information has already been submitted to the tribunal. To elaborate here would be redundant."

"Objection sustained."

Dinmont's mouth opened, but no words came out. She closed it, opened it, and tried again. "The journal articles are evidence—"

"Ms Dinmont!" snapped Delon. "I have made my ruling. And you will abide by it, or I will be forced to sanction you, and, if necessary, forcibly eject you from these proceedings!"

Dinmont stared, but kept silent.

"Do you have any further questions for this witness?" Delon asked brusquely.

Dinmont ground out, "Not at this time."

"Good. Mr Hunter, you may proceed with your cross-examination."

"Let's cut to the chase," Hunter said, and Julian drew no comfort from the almost predatory smile that crossed his face. "You were genetically enhanced as a child, were you not?"

"Yes." Why, thought Julian, was Hunter asking about something everyone already knew?

"You hid the truth about your genetic status until your parents inadvertently revealed the secret, did you not?"

"Yes."

"You lied—or at least failed to reveal the truth—for over fifteen years, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"You lied about your genetic status in order to enter Starfleet."

"I didn't lie...exactly. I just...didn't volunteer information that Starfleet didn't ask for."

"Let me put it another way... You broke the law to gain admittance into Starfleet Academy."

"Yes."

"You broke the law to study medicine."

"Yes."

"And you continued to break the law by practicing medicine, once you had qualified."

"Yes."

There it was, the truth stripped bare of all justifications and excuses, and Julian hated it.

"Now, for the benefit of everyone present, would you please describe what about you was enhanced?"

Uncomfortably, Julian said, "Mental abilities, hearing, sight, stamina, reflexes...some physical attributes. In short, nearly everything about me was changed in some way."

Hunter looked at the panel and said, "I want to refer again to the report that Dr Tsonga prepared for Starfleet Medical."

Dinmont stood up. "Why? What is its relevance? Julian Bashir has already and freely admitted that he was enhanced."

"But he has not been entirely forthcoming with regard to the extent of his enhancements, has he? What he described lacks...detail, and that indicates to me that he's still hiding the truth about the nature of his enhancements."

"You didn't ask for detail," protested Dinmont.

"Irrelevant," said Hunter.

"Plus," continued Dinmont, "you already presented an _exhaustive_ account of Julian Bashir's enhancements, earlier. Julian Bashir did not need to provide full details. Indeed, it would have been redundant of him to do so, and I resent your implication that he was deliberately trying to mislead the hearing!"

"Tsonga's report," said Hunter, "makes clear the extent to which Bashir deviates from human norms. It makes clear the extent of his Augmentation. Julian Bashir, himself, has not." Then Hunter turned back to Julian and said, "You're not normal, are you?"

Julian's skin crawled and he whispered, "No."

"The panel didn't hear you. Please repeat your answer."

With difficulty, Julian forced himself to speak more loudly. "No." The word lodged in his throat and distorted into a cracked syllable. For a moment he wondered whether Hunter would force him to say it for a third time.

"No further questions."

"Do you wish to re-examine?"

"No," said Dinmont.

"Very well," said Delon. "In that case, we shall recess for lunch and reconvene in...two hours."

-=o=-

The room suddenly filled with noise and movement and chatter. People flowed out of the chamber, with only a few individuals hanging back out of politeness, to avoid the scrum, or because they were waiting for someone else.

Julian couldn't move. Not yet. If his legs had felt watery at breakfast, they now felt as though they'd turned to gas and dissipated from his body. He couldn't trust himself to stand. He felt weak and shaky, and as though he'd been mentally flayed.

The time he'd spent on the stand was a foggy blur, and only with effort could he call up the full details. Even then, he wasn't entirely sure what had happened...or, more exactly, how it had been allowed to happen.

Every time he'd thought Dinmont had been on to something, Delon and Hunter had managed to counter her arguments. At the end of it all, the memory that hung clearest in his mind was Hunter's question: "You're not normal, are you?"

"Julian?"

The sound of his name pulled Julian out of his thoughts. He turned his head sluggishly towards the speaker, and he saw that Sisko was standing next to the witness table. There was a faint frown on Sisko's forehead, and Julian suspected that Sisko was worried. About him. Next to Sisko stood Loews. Judging by the expression on her face, she was worried about him, too.

Sisko said, "You okay?"

Julian didn't feel okay, but there was nothing to be gained by giving in to his feelings. If being okay was a matter of choice, then he'd choose to be okay, at least for now. Besides, Sisko's—and Loews's—concern helped. It was comforting to know that they cared.

After everything that Sisko had heard about him that morning, he still wasn't repulsed. Julian felt a lump of gratitude lodge itself beneath his breastbone. Julian forced himself to nod.

Sisko's frown remained stuck in place, at odds with his words. "Good. Come on, then," said Sisko. "Let's go get some something to eat."

Sisko looked at Dinmont and asked, "Will you come with us?"

"I'm sorry," she said. "But I've got to check on Daffers. I'll see you back here."

Julian followed Sisko and Loews out of the chamber.

Julian baulked as Sisko headed for the front entrance, but, really, what else had he expected? There were no dining facilities in the building. He gathered himself together and allowed himself to be led outside.

The protestors booed, hissed and spat when they spotted him. They pressed in, waving their placards. Most of the inscriptions were familiar, but some new ones had been added especially for this occasion: "Strike off Dr Nip!"; "No career for Bashir!"; "Dr Evil". Julian tried not to read them, but he'd seen them, and the images were burned into his memory.

He felt Sisko grab hold of his elbow and hurry him along.

Loews said she knew of an intimate little café that was hidden up a nearby side street, so the three of them headed there.

The café was three-quarters empty when they arrived—hardly a recommendation given the time of day—and they had the pick of the unoccupied tables. They sat down, and Sisko let out a puff of air that was almost a whistle. "Hell, Julian!" he exclaimed. "I didn't realise... Do they always go after you like that?"

Julian nodded, a small, unhappy gesture. "Pretty much, yes. Although, they might have been a little more enthusiastic than usual, today."

Sisko stared at him, and Julian realised that, even with everything Sisko had known, seeing the behaviour of the protestors at first hand had shaken him.

"What I don't understand," said Loews, "is why all those damn protestors care so much. Haven't they got better things to do with their time than make other people's lives miserable?"

Neither Julian nor Sisko attempted to answer her. In the uncomfortable silence that followed her question, Sisko handed around menus and said, "What do you fancy?"

Julian didn't care much. His stomach felt shrunken and unsettled. He shook his head vaguely.

"You've got to eat something," said Loews.

Julian huffed and said, "You sound like Joseph."

Loews almost smiled. "He sounds like a wise man to me."

"Oh, he is," agreed Sisko.

Julian scanned the menu and thought that he might be able to cope with a light chicken salad sandwich. He paid little attention either to Loews and Sisko choosing their own items, or to Sisko going up to the counter to order.

Sisko returned and sat down. Both Sisko and Loews made several attempts to engage Julian in small talk, but he struggled to pick up on their conversational gambits, and so talk was sporadic and lacklustre.

Finally, a stout waiter unhurriedly brought three plates of sandwiches over and put them down. Joylessly, he said, "Enjoy," and retreated.

Julian felt relieved that concentrating on his sandwich gave him an excuse for keeping silent. He wondered whether the others felt equally grateful; probably they did, given the way they suddenly focussed on their food.

Several minutes passed. Then the door opened, and three people came in. Julian glanced up and then he stiffened. They were yellow, like the people in his drug-fuddled memories and his nightmares, and he had to blink the images away. He shook his head slightly, and the yellow people resolved themselves into two male Starfleet officers and one female commander, whom he recognised. Commander Roughsedge and her two companions were all wearing the mustard uniforms of their service branch.

Sisko and Loews sensed his agitation and turned their heads to see what had bothered him. Julian saw recognition and understanding in their eyes.

From across the room, Roughsedge waved at him. Did she actually expect him to respond in kind? He ducked his head and determinedly stared at his less-than-half-eaten meal and the random pattern of crumbs on his plate.

Julian's throat narrowed.

There was something about those three and the way they were whispering, staring and pointing at him. Julian felt a crawling under his skin, up his spine and into his scalp. His mouth went dry and his jaw clenched.

Well, of course they unsettled him! Roughsedge had almost killed him; no wonder he felt skittish in her presence. But still... He chanced a glance at the two men. He didn't recognise them, but somehow they made him every bit as uneasy as she did.

The bread in his mouth was suddenly cloying, an indigestible mass of fibre. He could only swallow by helping his mouthful down with a slug of water, and he couldn't eat anything else.

"Ignore them," hissed Sisko.

Julian abandoned the rest of his sandwich and pushed his plate away. He was only vaguely aware of the concerned glances that Sisko and Loews darted his way as they continued eating.

Finally, they were also done. Sisko looked at a clock on the wall and suggested that they had plenty of time for coffee.

Loews, however, disagreed, saying apologetically that she was expected back at the Institute, and that she needed to be on her way. She wished Julian good luck and voiced her regret that she'd miss the rest of the hearing. Then she got up and left.

Sisko looked at Julian. "Coffee?" he asked.

Julian shook his head.

"Tea, then?"

"No. Thank you." He doubted that he'd be able to swallow it.

Sisko got up and went over to the counter to place his own order. Sitting alone at the table, Julian felt exposed and vulnerable, and when he looked across the room, he caught Roughsedge and her companions watching him.

Sisko sat down again, and he slid a glass of water in front of Julian. "Try to drink something," he said. Then he lifted his cup to his mouth, blew across the top, and sipped. He grunted with satisfaction and muttered, "Not bad," appreciatively.

Julian forced himself to pick up his glass and he took a couple of tentative sips. As knotted as his stomach was, the cool water felt good in his dry mouth, and he found himself daring to take a few sips more.

Roughsedge and her cronies received their order and began to scoff down their food, whispering quietly enough between hasty bites that even Julian couldn't hear them over the backdrop of kitchen clatter, street noise, and the arrival of a crowd of new customers.

Roughsedge's group rushed through their lunches but, once they'd finished, they seemed in no hurry to leave. Julian wished they'd go; he had no desire to walk past them. But they sat and whispered, and he had the horrible notion that they were waiting him out.

Finally, he and Sisko could delay no longer, not if he were to be sure of getting back to the hearing on time.

They rose and, Sisko in the lead, headed towards the exit. Roughsedge moved. She dodged in between them, and barred Julian's way. Sisko stalled and turned back, but, without creating a scene, there was nothing he could do to prevent the encounter.

Roughsedge leaned in and quietly whispered, for Julian's ears only, "When the medical community decides it doesn't want you, we'll be waiting."

"Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?" spat Julian bitterly, with more bluster than confidence. "The MSB hasn't made its ruling yet."

Roughsedge's lips curled in a mockery of a smile as she stepped aside to let him pass.

"What was that about?" asked Sisko, once they were safely out on the street.

Julian shook his head slightly. "I'm not sure," he said. "It sounded almost like a threat. She said..." Then he shook his head again, and he let his unfinished sentence hang in the air. "It doesn't matter." He began walking.

Sisko fell into step beside him.

-=o=-

"I request that the written testimonies submitted by Julian Bashir's colleagues on Deep Space Nine be read aloud for the panel and the public," said Dinmont.

"Request denied," said Delon. "The information has already been submitted to the panel, and we are familiar with it. The files are available to the public, if anyone wants to access it for themselves."

"Objection," said Dinmont. "You set precedent for the reading of statements this morning, when you allowed Mr Hunter to."

"Irrelevant," said Delon. "I have ruled on this matter, and my decision is final."

Grudgingly, Dinmont sat down.

Hunter stood up, glanced across at Dinmont and Julian, and then turned his attention back to Delon. "I would like to move that the evidence by the medical personnel on Deep Space Nine be ruled as inadmissible."

Dinmont sprung back to her feet. She glared in shock at Hunter and demanded, "On what grounds?"

Picking and savouring his words, Hunter said, "The medical staff on Deep Space Nine are all Bajoran and, as such, are not bound by the same medical standards as Federation practitioners. Given the potential for cultural differences between their planet and Federation standards to affect their judgment, their evidence cannot be considered...reliable. Indeed, Bashir, himself, commented earlier that Federation norms cannot be assumed to apply on Deep Space Nine."

Delon leaned forward and said clearly, "Motion granted."

Dinmont shouted, "Objection! Their evidence clearly demonstrates my client's fitness to practice medicine and—"

"Objection overruled!" Delon shouted over her. "Your client's fitness as a medical practitioner isn't in question. However, his moral character is."

"The evidence also shows that my client has excellent moral charact—"

"According to Bajoran standards, perhaps. But as Mr Hunter as pointed out, Bajoran standards are not necessarily the same as our own. I've made my ruling. Now sit down, and allow us to continue."

Dinmont sat down slowly and reluctantly. Julian saw her clench and unclench her hands beneath the table. "Bastards," she muttered. "They had that all planned out." Julian thought that she was probably right. He felt her frustration, and he felt his stomach knotting again.

She looked at him, leaned in, and muttered quietly enough to ensure that only he could hear her. "It's bad enough that we couldn't force them to hear that evidence, but to have it ruled inadmissible, too...! That's..." She didn't complete the thought, and Julian was forced to fill in the gap for himself.

Dinmont straightened up, but she continued muttering quietly. "We're going to have to appeal. God knows, we've got grounds, given how Delon has been conducting these proceedings! Where the hell is Lynch when you need him!"

Julian wasn't sure whether she was still talking to him or whether she was muttering to herself, so he didn't respond. She'd given up, he realised. They'd lost already.

"I don't understand it. I've never seen Delon act so partially before." Dinmont sounded genuinely perplexed.

But Julian understood. He'd known from the outset what he was up against. He'd even calculated the depressingly low probability that he'd emerge from the hearing with his licence intact. But he'd hoped. Oh, how he'd hoped!

He still clung to hope, because, just now, hope was all he had left.

-=o=-

Hunter began his summation. "The charges we are considering today do not relate to whether Julian Bashir has performed competently as a doctor. Nor do they relate to his medical expertise or to his contributions, such as they are, to the profession. Rather, the charges relate to how he managed to manoeuvre himself into a position where he could practice medicine in the first place. Julian Bashir broke the law. That he has, since qualification, performed to professional standards is irrelevant. It does not change the fact that he behaved in a criminal manner. The ends do not justify the means."

Hunter paused long enough to make sure that his words sunk in. He held the gazes of the panel members in turn, then he turned to look at the spectators.

When he was sure that everyone was on tenterhooks, waiting for his next words, he continued. "If we allow a man who has broken the law to continue practicing medicine, then we bring the whole profession into disrepute. Moreover, notwithstanding the conclusions reached by Counsellor Telnorri and Dr Loews in their psychological evaluations of the defendant, questions must be raised about Bashir's suitability to practice medicine. He is an Augmented human; Augmented humans have personality problems. That neither the counsellor nor the psychiatrist found any evidence of such problems does not mean that they do not exist. Rather, it merely suggests that Bashir is intelligent enough to hide them in much the same way that he hid, and lied about, his genetic status for years. His law breaking clearly demonstrates a disregard for the law and a history of arrogant duplicity."

Hunter paused again, and Julian could both hear and feel the ripple of agreement that passed around the room.

"Not only should Bashir not be forgiven for circumventing the law in the past, he should be prevented from practicing medicine in the future because of the danger he—and his kind—present to the general population. This is the reason we—as a society—have a preference for placing such people in secure environments. The panel should therefore discipline Bashir to the maximum extent of its powers."

Hunter smiled, gave what amounted to a tiny bow, and sat down. Several people in the audience applauded him. Delon did nothing to quieten them. In fact, Julian thought that he might be smiling in approval.

Julian felt his face flame, not only because of the audience's reactions, although they were bad enough. Worse, though, was that Hunter had pre-empted their arguments by saying how Julian comported himself was irrelevant to the case. He'd also played the fear card, the one Julian, even in his darkest moments, tried not to think about. He wasn't like the Augments.

He wasn't.

Was he?

How could Dinmont salvage anything from this?

-=o=-

Dinmont started her summation nervously, but she quickly found her voice as she either gained or feigned confidence. "Julian Bashir was genetically enhanced at the age of six. This is now a matter of public record and we do not dispute it. We feel that nothing has been gained by my colleague's desire to dwell on that fact at such length. Mr Hunter would have you believe that Julian Bashir's...competence...as a medical practitioner has no bearing on this case. I say he is wrong. Yes, Julian Bashir entered the profession illegally. He has also practiced medicine illegally. We have already conceded these points."

Julian chanced a glance at the panel to see whether her words were having any effect. Two of them were leaning forwards in their seats, paying attention. Several more looked inscrutable and might or might not have been listening. Delon exuded an air of boredom and was picking at his nails again, just as he had done at the Directions Conference.

Dinmont raised her voice, putting more power and conviction into her words. "However, the facts are these. The laws relating to the genetically enhanced are such that he had no choice but to practice illegally, if he wanted to practice at all. The alternative would have been to let his abilities go to waste, abilities that he did not seek, but that were imposed upon him. Should he be punished for something done to him? Shouldn't the perpetrators of that deed be punished, instead? As, indeed, one of them has been. Julian Bashir's father is, as we speak, serving a jail term for illegal genetic engineering. The Starfleet JAG sees the logic in this argument, and has thus allowed my client to continue to serve in that organisation. Can you do anything less?"

Was it Julian's imagination, or were a couple of the inscrutables paying more attention now? Was that a good sign? Did it, at this point, matter?

"And let's look at Julian Bashir's professional record. He has practiced medicine more than merely competently. His is an exemplary record of achievement and compassion. He has excelled as a practitioner, a manager and administrator, and as a researcher. Should these achievements be ignored? Thrown away? Wasted?"

Dinmont's questions were meant to be rhetorical, but a handful of protestors could no longer contain themselves, and several voices responded, pantomime-like, "Yes!"

Julian had been concentrating on the stage, and he'd failed to notice the reactions of the spectators sitting behind him. Thus, the chorused retort took him by surprise and made him jump. He twisted his head around to see the reactions of the crowd, then he quickly turned back, wishing that he hadn't bothered. He risked a glance back at the stage and saw Delon looking down at him. Delon's lips twitched in something that might have been satisfaction or amusement.

Dinmont paused, momentarily thrown off track, then she recovered herself. "Finally, Mr Hunter has suggested that my client is a danger to his patients and the public simply because he has been Augmented. Yet, by his own admission, Mr Hunter agrees that he can find no evidence to support this view. Mr Hunter is playing on your prejudices and fears. He says that there is no evidence because Julian Bashir has practiced deceit to hide any evidence that may exist."

A minority of people in the audience were growing restless, their discontent simmering and manifesting as a low-level grumble throughout the chamber. Worse, their restlessness was catching, and Delon was doing nothing to quell the noise.

Now Dinmont was almost shouting, not in order to give her words emphasis but simply to make herself heard. She continued valiantly, though she must have known that she'd been allowed to lose command of the room. Julian told himself that it didn't matter what the room thought; only the panel's opinion mattered...but then he wondered at what point she'd lost them, too.

"I say that Mr Hunter's interpretation of the results of the psychological profiles insults the professionalism of both Counsellor Telnorri and Dr Loews. It is far more likely that the reason he can find no evidence to support his claims is because there is no evidence to find. Julian Bashir is not a danger to anyone."

Dinmont paused, glanced around the room, took a deep breath, and raised her voice as much as she could. "In conclusion, while the defence acknowledges past wrong-doing on the part of the defendant, we argue that the mitigating factors are such as to warrant leniency in this case. Thank you." Her last words were lost in a chorus of catcalls and stomping feet.

Dinmont sat down, and Julian saw her inhale slowly and carefully. Then she exhaled a long, shuddering breath. He noticed her hands shaking as she wiped her palms against her thighs.

-=o=-

The panel deliberated for barely fifteen minutes before they filed back into the chamber. It was the longest fifteen minutes of Julian's life.

When the crowd had settled down, Pierre Delon stood up and began to speak. "We have heard a great deal today about the achievements of Julian Bashir, of the work he has done since taking up his post of Chief Medical Officer on Deep Space Nine. While all that may be true, it does not alter the facts that he entered the medical profession illegally and that his actions have set a bad example both within the profession and without. Julian Bashir is an Augmented human and, as such, cannot be allowed to practice medicine. It is the decision of the panel that Julian Bashir be struck off the medical register with immediate effect."

A large proportion of the crowd broke out into cheers and applause.

All that time. All their efforts. Yet, when it came down to it, it had taken less than a minute for Pierre Delon to strike Julian off the medical register.

Julian stared at him. Pierre Delon stood up, avoided looking in Julian's direction, walked around the table, stepped down from the stage, and strode down the aisle.

The rest of the panel dispersed, some following Delon and others retreating through the side door they'd used earlier. Some looked at Julian, some did not. Henri Roget looked almost apologetic.

All day, Julian had been on a roller coaster of hope and despair, and it had been exhausting. Finally, he'd been sent headlong in a downward spiral, grinding to a halt at the bottom where all bad things lurked.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

From across the room, Sisko saw horror and devastation and pain wash across Julian's face before Julian buried it in his hands. Next to him sat Dinmont, looking stunned, her hands in her lap, clenched tightly into fists. She looked as though she couldn't quite work out how all their carefully prepared arguments had come to this.

Well, she wasn't the only one, thought Sisko. He'd been convinced; how could any right-minded person with even the teeniest smidgen of compassion fail to be?

The members of the panel had all had ample evidence laid out in front of them that Julian was a good person and an excellent physician. They'd had character references; professional plaudits; they'd heard from Julian, himself...

Yet, none of it had mattered one iota, because Pierre Delon and Piers Hunter had undermined everything, and because Julian's personal attributes and achievements, no matter how great, would never be enough to offset his one failing. He was enhanced, and nothing was ever going to compensate for that.

Sisko and Joseph and O'Brien could all tell Julian that his genetic status didn't matter, but Julian wouldn't believe them, because time and again the words and actions of others proved that it did.

Sisko tried to blot out the excited jabber of the crowd as they began to stand up and disperse, well satisfied with the afternoon's entertainment.

He glanced around the room. There was Roughsedge talking to Admiral Fischer. Odd, Sisko thought, that he hadn't noticed him earlier. Fischer was looking disgustingly happy about something, and Sisko felt his upper lip curl into an involuntary sneer. Then he frowned as Delon joined them. Fischer greeted Delon warmly and, although Delon's response was a little cooler, the two men left together, their heads bowed in conversation, with Roughsedge tagging along behind.

Sisko turned around again, and all thoughts of the scene he'd just witnessed promptly vanished from his mind. He got up and fought against the flow of people trying to leave.

He made his way to Julian's side, then he looked down, touched Julian lightly on the shoulder to pull him out of whatever mental hell he had fallen into, and said, "Come on. Let's go home."

Julian nodded wordlessly and staggered to his feet.

Sisko put his hand around Julian's elbow and gently steered him from the chamber.

Outside, the protestors were gloating and cheering, and there was nothing generous in the way they chanted and slow-clapped when Sisko and Julian emerged from the building. Sisko tried to place himself between them and Julian, knowing that his size was more imposing than Julian's lean form could ever be. But the protestors circled around, engulfing them.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Sisko saw Julian raise his hands, trying to block the flurry of whatever it was the crowd had started throwing.

Sisko heard the crack of shells, and he realised that Julian was being pelted with eggs. He felt one smack against his own head. The raw egg felt slimy as it slid down the back of his skull and under his collar, sending a shiver skittering up his spine.

Why wasn't anyone trying to quash the disturbance?

Then Sisko saw the security officers standing off to one side, watching as though this was an entertainment put on for their benefit. And there was Fischer, still talking to Delon, and there was Roughsedge, standing nearby, observing everything with rapt attention.

Sisko put his hand on Julian's shoulder and said into his ear, "We're going to have to run for it."

"Aye, Captain," said Julian, and Sisko thanked the heavens or the stars or anyone who might have been listening for Julian's ingrained response to a command from a senior officer.

They stumbled for the first couple of steps, then they adjusted to each other's rhythm. Sisko ran, and he was conscious of Julian precisely matching his pace. He sped up; Julian followed suit, and the implications of some of the things he'd heard that morning began to sink in.

Julian was enhanced; he wasn't going to struggle to keep up with Sisko, who prided himself on his fitness and endurance. If anything, it would be the other way around, if only Julian would give himself full rein. Sisko could feel his breathing becoming more ragged, and Julian, beside him, might as well have been out for a light jog.

Behind them, the crowd fractured, and some of its members set off in pursuit.

A fleeting thought crossed Sisko's mind: how often, and by how much, had he underestimated Julian over the years? Then he wondered how much Julian had relied on being underestimated to keep himself safe.

Sisko threw the thoughts aside. He had far more important things to deal with, such as how to put enough distance between themselves and the crowd so that he could call for an emergency transport.

Now he was paying more attention, he realised that the crowd wasn't quite as loud as it had been. He chanced a glance over his shoulder and realised that he and Julian were increasing the gap between themselves and the mob and, even better, some of its members were giving up, doubling over to catch their breath, and getting in the way of those who wanted to continue the chase.

Encouraged, Sisko decided that another couple of hundred metres should do it. He got his second wind and picked up speed.

-=o=-

They materialised in the alley at the back of the restaurant. Sisko, panting, found that he was shaking with anger and indignation, and Julian was shaking with something far, far worse.

"Come on. Let's get you inside."

Julian nodded, but he seemed incapable of speech. Maybe that wasn't surprising. Julian was probably in shock. After all, he'd had a traumatic day. He'd been struck off, and he'd just been chased by a mob!

Sisko guided him into the kitchen. Nathan glanced up from dressing a crab, did a double take, and stared, slack-jawed. He snapped his mouth shut with an audible click of his teeth, and then he said, "What the hell? Julian? Are you okay?"

Julian didn't answer and, when Nathan looked askance at Sisko, Sisko mutely shook his head.

Sisko steered Julian into the dining room. Like Nathan, Grant and Tina stared. Joseph dropped the pile of cutlery he'd been sorting and the resulting clatter made Julian startle.

"What _happened_ to you?" exclaimed Joseph.

Julian shook his head. "I want... I need to get clean," he said.

"Me, too," said Sisko, although he was well aware that he wasn't anywhere near as messy as Julian. He glanced at Joseph, and said, "Let me get washed up, then I'll come down and fill you in."

Joseph nodded reluctantly, but he let them go without trying to ply them for more information. Sisko felt multiple sets of eyes on his back as he left the room.

-=o=-

The shock that had enveloped Julian after hearing the verdict had worn off, and reaction was setting in. He was covered in a blend of shards of shells, albumen and yolk, and the fabric of his uniform was beginning to harden and crack as the raw egg dried out and set.

Julian stripped off and threw his clothes into a bin, ready for the recycler. He stepped into the shower, turned it on to its most powerful setting, and let the water pound his body. He shampooed the egg out of his hair and cleaned it off his face and hands. Then he scrubbed and scrubbed, trying to get the rest of himself clean. But the dirt and the shame wouldn't come off, no matter how hard he rubbed.

Finally, he just stood under the jets, his hands braced against the tiled walls, letting the water flow over him.

He wasn't a doctor any longer.

He wasn't a doctor.

Another thing to add to the list of things he wasn't.

He wasn't normal.

He wasn't human.

He wasn't a citizen of the Federation.

But of all the wasn'ts, not being a doctor hurt the most, because it had been his achievement, something he'd earned for himself, rather than something done to him. More than anything, being a doctor had defined who he was.

Palis had been right. Everything about him was wrong.

-=o=-

Above them, they could hear the water pounding through the pipes as Julian continued to shower.

Sisko sat down, rubbed his face in his hands, and then looked at his father. "They struck him off," he said flatly. Nathan, Grant and Tina hovered nearby, wanting to give the Siskos space but also desperate for news.

Joseph slid a mug across the table, towards Sisko. "You knew that was a possibility."

"Yes, but..." Sisko stood up again and began to pace. "The whole thing was a farce! Pierre Delon manipulated the entire hearing, and it was obvious that he'd made his own mind up long before anyone set foot in that room. It was...more than cruel. It was like a show trial, or a witch-hunt. And then..." He threw up his arms in disgust, his voice rising in line with his anger. "Afterwards, the security staff just stood by and watched as the protestors shouted, threw things at him, and then chased after us! It was barbaric...like something out of ancient history." His fury spent, at least temporarily, he stopped talking, let his shoulders slump dejectedly, and returned to his seat.

Sisko and Joseph sat in depressed silence. Nathan, Grant and Tina finally wandered off and, subdued, they went back to work.

-=o=-

At some point, the hot water must have run out, but Julian didn't notice until his teeth were chattering, his body was shivering so hard that he was shaking, and the chill had clawed its way so deep into his body that it hurt. How long had he been standing there? Quite a while, judging from the way the water had puckered the skin on his fingers.

He shut the shower off, stepped onto the bath mat, and wrapped himself in a large towel. He half-heartedly began to dry himself. Then, too drained, too broken to do anything more, he sank to the floor, curling up against the misery that threatened to overwhelm him.

Life was too much to bear. He couldn't stand it any longer.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was on his feet again. He strode out into the bedroom, dripping water across the carpet. He found his med kit and threw it down on the bed. He opened it. Got out a hypo. Hefted it. Considered it. Held it tightly.

He retreated back into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

He'd known.

He'd calculated the odds and he'd known, and yet he had still been shocked at the outcome because, despite everything, he'd clung on to hope.

He shouldn't have listened to the optimists. He should never have promised O'Brien that he'd fight. He should have just walked away quietly.

He hurt. Deep down, deep inside, he ached in ways that defied medical diagnosis.

Being a doctor had helped to fill an empty void in his being, but now that was gone, all that was left was a sucking vacuum that threatened to consume him from within. Without medicine, who was he? He was no one. His identity, his sense of self, had been snatched away, and he was left with nothing. He was less than nothing.

The casing of the hypo warmed in his hand. It tantalised him, promising peace and oblivion. No more pain. No more hurt. No more fighting. An end to all the futility.

But...

He couldn't use it.

Why was an everyday action such as using a hypospray suddenly so difficult?

He closed his eyes, rested his head against the wall, and forced himself not to weep.

-=o=-

Joseph slowly folded napkins and stacked them into a neat pile while Sisko played with his mug, twiddled with his spoon, and slowly related to Joseph the details of how the day had unfolded. Above them, the water pipes were quiet.

"What'll he do now?" asked Joseph, when at last Sisko was done.

"I don't know," said Sisko. "If he's thought about it, he hasn't shared any of his ideas with me. You should have seen his face when they made the announcement. Actually, be glad you didn't. It hurt to look at him." Sisko sighed. "To be honest, I'm not sure what else he'd want to do. He's passionate about medicine. To have that taken away..."

"I'll tell him that he can stay here for as long as he wants."

"That's great, Dad. It'll help. But it's not the answer."

Sisko downed the last of his coffee, then he got up. "He's been gone a long time. I think I'll go and find out how he's doing."

He trudged his way across the restaurant and up the stairs. He knocked on the door to Julian's room. Then, when he didn't get a reply, he tried again, this time calling out Julian's name.

There was still no answer.

Sisko felt a frisson of apprehension. "I'm coming in," he said. He opened the door, walked in, and looked around.

The room was empty.

"Julian?" he called again, puzzled.

He looked around and saw the med kit lying open on the bed. Why would Julian...?

Sisko strode over and looked inside. He didn't know enough to know what was supposed to be in the kit, but he could tell that there was a gap. Something was missing.

The bathroom door was closed. Sisko frowned. Surely Julian wasn't still in there. He knew that Julian had finished showering some time ago, so why...?

He knocked on the door. Called Julian's name.

There was no reply.

-=o=-

"Julian? Julian! Unlock the door!"

How long had the captain been banging and shouting? Julian didn't know. Why didn't he know? Why was he missing time? He shouldn't be missing time... The last time this had happened, he'd be drugged, but he didn't have that excuse today...

Julian was pulled out of his wandering thoughts by Sisko pounding on the door again and shouting, "If you don't open the door _now_, I'll be forced to phaser it open!"

Julian didn't want to let him in, but he couldn't keep him out. He shuffled across the floor and released the lock, then scooted out of the way, knowing that Sisko would take the door release as a tacit invitation to enter.

Sure enough, Sisko came in.

Julian turned his face towards the wall.

Sisko snatched the hypo out of his grasp. Panicked, Sisko said, "Julian! What did you do?"

Julian didn't answer. Instead, he screwed his eyes up against his despair.

He felt, more than saw, Sisko crouch down next to him. "Julian? What have you done?" Sisko's voice was softer now, less harsh but no less demanding, and all the more compelling for that.

"Nothing. I haven't done anything. I was tempted, but...I couldn't do it. I guess I'm too much of a coward."

He heard Sisko sit down on the floor with a thump. "Or maybe you're brave enough not to take the coward's way out," Sisko suggested.

Not true, thought Julian. He'd long since run out of bravery. The only things that had kept him going in recent days had been hope, stubbornness and habit, and he was so, so tired. Now he'd lost all hope, and stubbornness and habit weren't enough.

"Tell me, what's wrong?"

Stupid, stupid question!

"Besides the obvious, that is. This isn't just about the tribunal, is it?"

Julian shook his head slightly. It hurt to form the words. His throat felt tight and stiff, and he had to force his voice to work. "Everything's wrong. They're right. Everything about me is wrong."

"They? Who are they?"

Julian struggled to remember. "Palis," he said weakly. "Hunter." But Palis and Hunter weren't the only ones, were they? There were the protestors...and, who were the others he could feel nibbling away at the edges of his consciousness? He didn't know. He didn't want to know, so he let Sisko's questions evaporate into nothingness.

"Julian... Things'll get better. You have to believe that."

"Why do I have to believe it?" Julian kneaded fistfuls of towel in his hands. He noticed in a detached way that his arms were covered in gooseflesh. He didn't care. "There's nothing left. I wish my father hadn't made the deal. I wouldn't be any worse off, and he wouldn't be in prison."

Sisko reached out and touched Julian's arm gently. Julian jumped. "You can't possibly know that."

"I do know. I've calculated the probabilities. It was easy to do." Julian wasn't boasting. He was bitterly stating a fact. For him, the calculations were easy. Too easy. So easy, it pained him. "I should have left DS9 quietly, like I wanted. I could've gone anywhere by now." Julian clenched his jaw against the volcano of misery erupting from the core of his being. He squeezed his eyes closed.

"Julian..." Sisko's voice was soft. Compassionate. Concerned.

A strangled, choking sob forced its way up Julian's throat.

Sisko moved, then Julian felt another towel being wrapped around his shoulders. Sisko began to rub some warmth back into him. Julian thought he should be embarrassed and that he ought to protest, but he was too beaten, too weary to bother.

He felt himself being pulled into Sisko's arms. His cheek pressed against the fabric of the captain's uniform. He could feel Sisko's comm badge imprinting his skin.

Sisko was holding him and lying to him, and telling him that everything would be all right. Julian couldn't remember ever having been comforted like this before. As though from a long distance away, he heard Sisko's voice croon, "It's okay. Let it all out. It's okay..."

Then Julian began to talk, and once he started he couldn't stop. Words and thoughts and fears fell from his mouth in a disjointed jumble.

He was unnatural...he was forbidden from using his enhanced skills; he couldn't even use them for the good of others...he wasn't allowed to work...he wasn't allowed to call himself human any more...worthless...people had the right to refuse to work with him...so lonely...everyone had the right to know...he was a monster...frightened, so frightened of what might become of him...scared every time he met someone new, or someone he'd known before...he'd disappointed his parents...they hadn't loved him enough, and they'd done this to him, but they said they loved him and he didn't understand...being genetically enhanced would always outweigh any good he did...so empty...he'd been attacked...he was hated...people avoided touching him...freak...the most personal aspects of his life had become everybody's business...he was an abomination...so much hatred...so much _self_-hatred...

"Shush, Julian... Shush." The words weren't a command. Rather they were a calming noise, an invitation to stop fighting, to relax. "We don't hate you. I don't. Dad doesn't. Nor does anyone else here."

Sisko's words upset Julian even more. Why were they so different from everyone else? He was grateful to everyone at the restaurant, but he didn't understand.

Sisko was holding him and rocking him, and Julian was crying.

Following some primitive instinct, Julian burrowed into Sisko's embrace. His wiry arms snaked around Sisko's back, holding on, anchoring himself.

Security sought.

And found.

Someone cared. Someone was easing his burdens, if just for a little while.

Julian couldn't fight any more. A geyser of pent up grief and hurt gushed out, racking his slender frame.

He felt Sisko's arms tighten around him.

-=o=-

Finally Julian quietened and was still. Sisko wondered whether he had fallen asleep and, if so, what he should do.

"Julian?" he whispered.

Julian moved his head. "Captain?" He sounded dazed.

"Come on. Let's get you more comfortable."

Awkwardly, Sisko managed to get his own legs beneath him and stood up, half-lifting Julian with him.

Julian was barely awake, so Sisko decided to put him to bed. Somehow, Sisko manoeuvred Julian into the bedroom, divested him of the damp towels, and coaxed him to lie down. Then he covered him in blankets.

Julian curled in on himself, and Sisko was reminded of that first night, when he'd watched over Julian as he'd slept.

Sisko watched as Julian's eyes closed and his breathing evened out. Sisko sighed.

They couldn't go on like this. One day, possibly soon, Sisko would have to leave to go back to Deep Space Nine, and what would Julian do then?

_Julian_ couldn't go on like this.

-=o=-

"You were gone a long time," said Joseph as Sisko rejoined him downstairs. "I was about to send out a search party." Then, more seriously, he said, "You look worried. How's he doing?"

"He's asleep now. But you're right. I am worried about him. What he said..."

"Did he tell you anything new?"

"That's the hell of it. It was all stuff I should have known or should have guessed, but to hear it all at once like that! It was— No wonder he's so..." Sisko paused, wondering how much he should say. "Did you know, he's had people refuse to touch him?"

Although Joseph shook his head, he said, "I'm not surprised. Look at the way he reacts whenever anyone shakes his hand or acts with anything approaching common courtesy. He tries to hide it, but he's always amazed whenever anyone treats him like a normal person."

Sisko huffed. "In all the ways that count, he _is_ a normal person."

"I know that." Then, after a beat, Joseph almost smiled as he said, "He worships you."

"He only behaves that way because of how other people treat him," said Sisko.

Joseph nodded. "Exactly my point."

Sisko hadn't understood why Julian had been so grateful to him, let alone trusted him, but now he thought he was beginning to. All things were relative, including trust.

Julian had been conditioned to be frightened, to expect the worst, to such an extent that he was shocked whenever anyone defied his expectations.

Sisko had defied them, back on Deep Space Nine and, again, here on Earth.

Sisko didn't think he was exceptional, but the more he saw of Julian and how he was treated, the more Sisko could see why Julian thought he was. Sisko had thought—he still thought—he'd let Julian down by not checking on him when he'd first arrived on Earth, but he was coming to understand that Julian didn't see things the same way. How could he, when their perspectives and their expectations of other people's behaviours were so wildly different?

Sisko desperately wanted Julian to be wrong about these things...but experience seemed to prove Julian right, over and over again.

Sisko felt sickened by the thought.

"Call me any time," Loews had said. So Sisko called.

"He's reached the end of his tether," said Sisko over the commlink, five minutes later. "I don't know what else to do."

"What have you done so far?" she asked.

Sisko felt oddly reluctant to confess the full details. "I tried to comfort him. I persuaded him to go to bed." And I hid the hypo and the med kit, he thought, but he didn't tell her that.

She nodded. "That's probably the best thing for him right now. I could prescribe him some sedatives, but they would only provide short-term relief. Let him take something if he wants, but it'd be healthier if he can manage without. He needs to deal with what's happened, not hide from it."

"So your advice...?"

"Let him sleep for now." She considered for a moment, then she said, "Is there anyone else who might help?"

"Besides everyone here, at the restaurant, you mean?"

At the other end of the commlink, Loews nodded.

"There's his mother," said Sisko doubtfully. "Although I'm not sure how much help she'd be." He hadn't thought anything about it before, but now her absence from the tribunal felt glaring and peculiar. Why hadn't she been there for her son?

"Call her," said Loews. "Right now, he needs to know that people care about him. Let's get him all the support we can. We can sort out the rest later."

-=o=-

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Yes, I know that this chapter was shorter than some. I tried reorganising things but, in the end, I couldn't come up with anything that seemed to work better. Sorry about that. On the plus side, for those of you who have mentioned that Julian needed a hug, well, he finally got one.

Thank you for reading. Particular thanks to those people who have recently decided to follow and favourite this, and thanks, as always, to those of you who have reviewed. I really appreciate all the interest people show in this story!

**Next chapter:** Julian finds out a couple of things and isn't happy. Sisko finds out more than a couple of things and definitely isn't happy, and the reader... Well, time will tell.


	16. Chapter 16

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

I've been astonished at the response to the last couple of chapters, so here's a truly heartfelt thank you to everyone who has been reading, favouriting, following and reviewing. I appreciate your interest and support more than you probably realise.

Remember the warning I gave, right back at the beginning of the story, about made up law? Well, here (some of) it comes...

-=o=-

**Chapter Sixteen**

"Captain Sisko. So nice of you to grace us with your presence this morning."

Sisko inclined his head in greeting. "Admiral Nechayev. Admiral Fischer." Then he said, "I sent my apologies for yesterday. I had a commitment elsewhere."

"Ah, yes," said Nechayev. "The hearing. But did you really need to be there all day? My sources told me that your part in the proceedings was over before lunch."

"I felt it necessary to stay," said Sisko. "Recent events notwithstanding, Julian Bashir is still under my command."

Nechayev sniffed and turned away to greet Commander Zontak, who had just burst through the door, bringing in his wake a gust of energetic excuses and apologies. Not for the first time, Sisko wondered whether any of his and Petterson's excuses were genuine, or whether they behaved that way to make themselves appear far more important than they actually were.

Fischer stepped in too close to Sisko and asked, "Tell me, how is your Nip, today?" Fischer's lips were curled in a mockery of a smile, and Sisko felt his hackles rise. Was the admiral being deliberately provocative, or was this his warped idea of light banter?

"I don't know," said Sisko carefully. "He was still asleep when I left." He shifted the topic slightly. "I saw you there yesterday, at the end of the hearing. What was your interest?"

"Oh... Curiosity. Plus, I was meeting my cousin for dinner."

Sisko's eyebrows rose. "Your cousin?"

"Pierre Delon. His mother was my aunt."

Sisko thought back to the day before and about how Roughsedge had hung around Fischer and Delon, and the seed of a suspicion took root in his mind. "Does Commander Roughsedge work for you?" he asked.

"Yes."

"So...she's Intelligence?"

"Yes," said Fischer, a hint of impatience colouring the word. "Why do you want to know?"

Intelligence had lured Julian into the holosuite. It hadn't been Starfleet Medical. Nor had it been Starfleet Security. Sisko absentmindedly rubbed the pad of his thumb across his fingertips as he let the realisation sink in. Then, carefully, he said, "No reason other than... How much do you know about her activities?"

"Enough," said Fischer. "As much as any commanding officer ever knows about those people beneath them in the organisational hierarchy."

Sisko wasn't sure how much of an answer that was, so he tried again.

"Were you aware that Roughsedge and some of her people drugged Julian Bashir and tried to make him believe that he was back on a Dominion prison asteroid?"

"Ah," said Fischer. "The holosuite."

"Yes," agreed Sisko.

"That was...unfortunate."

"'Unfortunate' in what way, exactly?" Then, without giving Fischer time to answer, Sisko said, "When Dr Loews and I found him, he had a concussion, and he was covered in bruises and abrasions. Your people beat him!"

"They had to, to make the scenario appear real."

"What scenario? Julian was so out of it, he couldn't have even told you his own name! What were they trying to do, anyway?"

"We needed to know whether he was a security risk."

"How would putting him back in a prison camp tell you that?"

"We wanted to see how he would react. Would he be angry or violent, or would he show more reason? How stable is he?"

"And you couldn't get that information any other way? From the psych profiles or his service records?"

"We needed to check for ourselves. He is an Augment, after all."

Sisko felt rage boiling up in his chest. "I am so sick of this! Yes, Julian Bashir was genetically enhanced. But that does not automatically make him suspect!"

"Doesn't it? There are well over a hundred protestors outside who would disagree with you." Fischer nodded towards the open window through which the familiar chants were again drifting.

Maybe it was Sisko's imagination, but didn't the protestors sound more upbeat and louder than before? Had yesterday's result encouraged them? Sisko pushed the questions aside, refusing to allow himself to be distracted, and he said, "No! He's a loyal Starfleet officer and a sentient being! He should be treated with the respect due to both. But, instead, your people tried to make him relive a trauma and almost killed him with a drug overdose!"

"That was an accident."

"A preventable one. Julian warned Roughsedge not to give him any more of the drug." Warming to his theme, Sisko asked another question. "Did your people even give him adequate food and water while he was with them? I've never heard of Starfleet officers treating prisoners so poorly, let alone their colleagues."

Admiral Fischer's eyes narrowed. "Just because you haven't heard of it doesn't mean that it doesn't happen. In Starfleet Intelligence, we have to be very sure about people—particularly people we are considering recruiting."

Sisko could feel his eyes bug out at that. Was the admiral delusional? Julian had been tortured by members of Fischer's staff, yet Fischer wanted Julian to work for him?

Stunned, he said, "You want to _recruit_ him?"

"Why not? Thanks to his enhancements, he has abilities that we'd find very useful in an operative."

"What on Earth makes you think that he would agree to work with you, after what your people did to him?"

"What on Earth makes _you_ think he'll have any choice? The MSB has struck him off the medical register, and I can't see any other branches of Starfleet queuing up to recruit an Augment, can you?"

Sisko's jaw flapped. "There must be plenty of other opportunities open to him."

"Like what?" said Fischer. "He's enhanced. His options are, by definition, limited. He can't do anything other than work for Starfleet, and he's only able to do that because of Bennett's deal. He should be grateful that Intelligence would even consider giving him a chance."

Sisko's gut told him that there was a lie somewhere in Fischer's story. He just couldn't figure out what that lie might be. He was sure that Fischer's people wouldn't want to work with Julian. At best, they'd use him, heedless of his welfare... "Do you care about him? Even a little? Or is he just a useful tool for you to use?"

"What do you think, Captain?"

Sisko knew that was as close to an answer as he was going to get.

-=o=-

Julian opened his eyes slowly. He listened to the empty silence of the upper part of the house, and he realised that, while he'd been sleeping, everyone else had got up and had got on with their lives.

Yesterday's emotional typhoon had passed, leaving behind it a sense of quiet devastation. He closed his eyes again, and felt oddly detached as he gently prodded at the wounded areas of his psyche, surveying the damage, and looking to see how much remained intact.

Had he really contemplated—even for a minute—using a hypospray on himself? Had he clung to Sisko and poured out a lifetime of hurts and doubts?

Yes, he had.

Now, as he rolled over onto his side and pulled the bedclothes over his head, he felt appalled and embarrassed by what he'd done, but he also felt as though an inner burden had been eased.

Nothing about his situation had changed, let alone been resolved, but something within him had shifted or reset, and Julian found an inner strength that took him by surprise and that gave him the courage to get out of bed, get washed and dressed, and go downstairs.

-=o=-

Julian drifted through the day. He filled his time with chores, keeping his hands busy while his mind wandered. What was he supposed to do now? Without his licence, what was his purpose in life? Did he have one? Was that even possible any more?

He felt Joseph and the others watching him, but they didn't press him. Although nobody said much, they somehow managed to let him know that they were there for him, that they would listen if he wanted to talk, and they would help if they could. However, they wouldn't press or crowd him, and Julian was grateful. He was also subdued and sad. The message he finally received from New Zealand didn't help his mood, either.

-=o=-

"Good day?" asked Joseph, as Sisko collapsed onto one of the banquettes later that afternoon.

"Tedious. Why use three words when you can use thirty?" He leaned his head on the padded backrest and groaned with relief. "I think the only reason for having all these meetings is so that the brass can kid themselves that they're doing something."

"They're not?"

"Not so you'd notice. There's a war coming. Talking about it won't change anything." He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, then said, "Where's Julian? I need to speak to him."

"Outside in the alley, cleaning clams. He's been pretty withdrawn all day, so it's hard to tell, but he got a message earlier that seemed to upset him. He's not talking, but at least he hasn't locked himself in the bathroom again. I thought it best to leave him be. And...there's something else. You're not going to like it."

"What?" Sisko asked, feeling a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Someone slipped this under the door about a half hour ago. I haven't told Julian, yet..." Joseph pulled a scrap of real paper out of the pocket in his apron and held it out to Sisko. "It's probably just some idiot, making mischief. But, you never know."

Sisko took the paper from Joseph, and unfolded and read it. "A death threat." He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then opened them again slowly. "Let's just hope that it's nothing. But, yeah... We'd better warn him to be on his guard. Dammit. This, on top of everything else..."

Sisko levered himself onto his feet, and headed outside.

As expected, he found Julian sitting on the doorstep. Julian was wearing a white cotton apron, and he was holding a scrubbing brush in one hand and a clam in the other. There were two buckets in front of him.

If Julian had noticed he was there, and Sisko couldn't believe that he hadn't, he gave no sign. He just carried on scrubbing.

Sisko watched quietly for a while. Julian had got quite a rhythm going. As soon as the clam he was holding was clean enough to satisfy him, he threw it into one of the buckets, scooped up a replacement from the other, and started scrubbing again. He barely looked up when Sisko finally greeted him.

"Dad said you got a message today," Sisko said invitingly.

"I heard back from New Zealand."

"And?"

"And the governor of the penal facility won't let me visit."

Sisko sighed. "What did your father do?"

"Nothing, as far as I know."

"Then why...? I mean, isn't withholding visits usually used as a punishment for some breach of discipline?"

"Oh... I see. No, it's me she's preventing from seeing him. Not visitors in general."

"Why?" But as soon as the question left his mouth, Sisko realised why. "Sorry. Stupid question."

Julian answered anyway. "Apparently, I'm a security risk."

"How does she figure that?"

Julian went at the latest clam with a ferocity that took Sisko by surprise. "She doesn't need to 'figure it', Captain. I'm enhanced. That's all she needs to know. So, no visits." He threw the clam into the "clean" bucket where it landed with a loud plop and a splatter of water, and he turned to face Sisko. His face was awash with emotion as he said, "When's it going to end? It's just one thing after a-bloody-nother!"

Sisko wished he could disagree, and he was therefore guiltily relieved when Joseph, by putting his head around the back door and saying, "Ben? Jake's on subspace for you," saved him from having to try.

-=o=-

"Dad? Is everything all right?" Jake was leaning in towards the camera lens, looking worried. "I had a journalist from the Federation News Service contact me earlier. She said something about there having been riots in New Orleans. That's not true, is it?"

Sisko sighed. "Yes, it's true."

"Is Grandpa all right? Everyone else?"

"Yes, yes. We're all fine. But everyone's a bit shaken up. And we've convinced Julian to stay on—"

"Dr Bashir's there?"

"Well, yes. Why else would the riots have been in New Orleans?"

Sisko watched as Jake's face took on an expression so shocked that it almost looked like a parody. Then Jake's mouth moved, and words came out of the commlink's speakers. "I think you'd better tell me what's been happening."

Sisko gave Jake an abbreviated version of how he'd come to invite Julian to stay, of how the news feeds had stirred up anti-Augment sentiment, and how, finally, rioters had descended on New Orleans.

"Is Dr Bashir all right?" asked Jake.

"Yes. Quite by chance, he was in Washington State when the rioters came."

"Dad..." said Jake awkwardly, after a long pause. "Is it safe to have Dr Bashir stay at the restaurant?"

Sisko felt his expression harden. "And what would you have us do with him? Send him away, just because we don't want trouble?"

"No! I didn't mean it that way! Well, perhaps I did, but..."

Sisko sighed. "If it makes you feel better, he wanted to leave. Your Grandpa persuaded him to stay."

"Gramps did?"

"Yes. Dad has taken quite a shine to Julian."

"So have you, if the way you're calling him Julian rather than Dr Bashir is any indication."

"Ah. Yes. Well. It's true that I'm getting to know him a lot better on this trip, but that's not the reason." Sisko pursed his lips, straightened his shoulders, and rubbed his hands together as he prepared to deliver the bombshell. "The Medical Standards Board revoked his licence to practice medicine. I'm surprised that the story isn't all over the newsfeeds by now. I guess it's only a matter of time."

"So...he's not a doctor anymore?" Jake's question reeked of disbelief.

"No."

"But that's...that's..."

Sisko waited, curious to hear what Jake would spit out.

"That's crazy! Dr Bashir—Julian—is brilliant! Taking that away from him? That's a waste! It's criminal!"

"Unfortunately, criminal is the one thing it's not. It's all perfectly legal."

"Then the law is wrong! It's not fair!"

"I know it's not." Sisko looked around, checking he was alone, and then he lowered his voice, just in case. "He's allowed to appeal the decision but, between you and me, I'm not sure that it'll do much good."

Sisko and Jake stared at each other through the subspace link. Then Jake said, "There's something you should know... Do you remember the profile I was supposed to write a while back? The one about Dr Bashir?"

"You ended up writing a piece on Ajilon Prime instead."

"Yes. Well, that journalist I mentioned? She was asking questions about it. She wanted to know what I hadn't written about. Wanted all sorts of biographical details. I didn't tell her anything. I told her that, whatever she wanted, she'd have to get it from Dr Bashir."

"Good boy."

"I couldn't have answered her questions, even if I'd wanted to. She was asking all kinds of stuff about his family and background. I just thought you ought to know. She's out there somewhere, and she's digging."

Sisko nodded, acknowledging Jake's words, and then he said, "Thanks for letting me know."

They stared at each other in silence for a few seconds, then Sisko deliberately switched the conversation to other things. "Did you finish your book yet?"

"Which one?"

"The depressed woman with the dead brother."

"Nah. I gave up on that weeks ago. Now I'm reading an Andorian comic novel. I don't understand the humour, though."

Sisko couldn't help himself. He laughed.

They talked for a while longer, Jake catching Sisko up on station gossip and assuring him that nothing disastrous had happened while he'd been away.

Finally, Jake said, "Looks like our time's almost up. Give my love to Gramps and Nathan and the rest. And tell Dr Bashir..." Jake shook his head. "I don't know what you should tell him."

"I'll think of something."

-=o=-

By the time Sisko got back to the dining room, the restaurant had opened, the first of the evening's customers had arrived, and Julian was busy waiting on tables. As a result, it wasn't until several hours later that Sisko had another opportunity to talk to him.

Julian and Sisko sat at one of the tables, nursing their late night mugs of coffee. This had quickly become something of a routine, one that both Sisko and Joseph, in light of what Julian had told them, thought important to continue. A third mug, steaming gently, awaited Joseph, who was locking up for the night. Given the nature of the note that had been slipped under the door that afternoon, Sisko understood why Joseph was being more diligent about the task than usual.

Sisko began by telling Julian about the death threat, all the while watching him carefully, wanting to gauge his reaction and his state of mind. Julian seemed to take the hatred almost in his stride, and Sisko found himself both admiring and worrying about Julian's stoical veneer.

Then Sisko moved on to talk about his conversation with Fischer, about Fischer's desire to recruit Julian, and finally about Fischer's suggestion that Julian might have no choice but to work for Intelligence.

Julian pursed his lips and said, "I guess I'll just have to cross my fingers, hope he's wrong and that someone else will decide that they want me, after all."

"You don't seem surprised by what Fischer said about your options," said Sisko.

Julian shrugged, looked down into his coffee mug, and muttered, "That's because he's right. I don't have any choices other than whatever Starfleet offers me. Even then, I'm not sure that choice is the right word."

Sisko frowned. "What?"

"It's not like normal laws, rules or regulations apply to me, is it?"

Joseph chose that moment to join them. He picked up his mug, took a sip, sighed contentedly, and then said, "What are we talking about?"

"The law." Then Sisko turned back to Julian and said, "I think I'm missing something here. Perhaps you'd better spell out your legal situation so that we can understand it properly. The idiot's version, please. Assume that we know nothing."

"Which is a fair assumption," said Joseph. "At least as far as I'm concerned."

Julian swallowed and nodded reluctantly. "Very well." He sucked on his lower lip for a moment, as if trying to figure out where to begin. Then he said, "Hypothetically speaking, let's say you have a child who, by the age of three, is showing signs of delayed development."

Sisko nodded. If Julian wanted to pretend that his situation was a hypothetical case, so be it. Whatever made him comfortable.

"By the age of six, the child has been tagged as having learning difficulties and as being in need of remedial education. His IQ is low, and specialists indicate that his mental age will never pass beyond that of a normal six- or seven-year old. If his parents are lucky."

Sisko nodded, encouraging Julian to continue, knowing that this couldn't be easy for him.

"Now, let's say that this child's parents decide to have him genetically enhanced. Genetically enhancing a child is illegal." Julian flicked his eyes between Joseph and Sisko, and, when they nodded, he said. "Even though that's clear, the law also includes provisions relating to what to do if a child is enhanced."

Sisko nodded again, and said, "Go on."

Thus encouraged, Julian continued, "For one thing, the law states that all genetically enhanced individuals must declare themselves, or be declared by their legal guardians."

"Would anyone actually do that?" asked Sisko. "Coming forward willingly to...declare...your child would be tantamount to a confession of guilt. You'd end up in prison!"

"Quite so." Julian looked relieved at Sisko's response. More confidently, he said, "If you are prepared to break the law by having your child enhanced, you're unlikely to have any qualms about not declaring your child. However, to answer your question, yes, people might come forward, especially if there are side effects to the enhancement procedures and they are unable to cope with the children they have created. But let's assume that the enhancement procedure our child has undergone has been successful and that the parents choose to declare his genetic status, anyway."

Sisko leaned forward in his chair. "I'm assuming."

"At that point, several things would happen. First, the child would be assigned an Advocate; the child would need someone to vouch for them."

Vouch... The word rang bells for Sisko. He put up his hand and said, "Wait a minute. Vouch?" He felt something slither up his spine. "What does that mean?"

Julian said uncomfortably, "According to the law, all genetically enhanced people are incompetent to handle their own affairs, so they need someone to act on their behalf." He shrugged. "The Advocate's role would be like...having power of attorney."

"Julian, there's something you need to know... I didn't think anything of it at the time but, when Admiral Bennett made that deal with your father, he told me that, if I wanted to keep you on the station, I would have to take responsibility. That I would have to vouch for you. I thought he meant, give you a character reference. Something like that, but..."

Julian paled. "You agreed? You... Oh, my God... Nobody said anything, and I just assumed... I'm an adult. I assumed that an exception had been made." A note of panic was creeping into Julian's voice, and his hands were shaking. Joseph reached out to still them, and Sisko wondered how Julian could be so blasé about a death threat but be so upset about this.

"Julian!" said Sisko. "It doesn't make any difference. I don't want to run your life."

Sisko had meant his words to be reassuring, but Julian was anything but reassured. "You might find you have to! It won't matter what you or I want!" Julian looked on the verge of panic.

Joseph patted Julian's hand, then stood up. Moments later, he came back with a glass of some amber-coloured liquid. "You looked like you could do with a stiff drink."

"I can't argue with that," said Julian, taking the glass. He sniffed and asked, "What is it?"

"Whiskey. Jack Daniels. Good ol' Tennessee rye."

Julian sipped it tentatively. His face scrunched up in disgust at the taste, but he gulped the glass dry, anyway.

"We'll have to talk about this vouching thing later," said Sisko. "For now, let's get back to our hypothetical child."

Going back to the hypothetical seemed to steady Julian's nerves. Either that, or the alcohol had the power to work miracles.

Julian nodded, then said almost calmly, "The child would be assigned a case number and the case would be allocated to a social worker. In instances where the parents are imprisoned, and there are no family members willing to look after the child, the child would have to go into care. And, because of the taboos surrounding genetic enhancement, we are unlikely to be talking about foster care. We are talking about some kind of institutional, maybe even psychiatric, care."

"Even if the child has shown no adverse effects?" gasped Sisko. No wonder Julian had been so fearful of being locked up!

"Even if. But, we're still talking hypotheticals here. So let's assume the best case scenario."

"Which is?" Sisko felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. Somehow he couldn't believe that "best case" was actually going to be good.

"Declaration of genetic status, and the child being cared for by family members."

Sisko nodded. "All right. What would happen then?"

"The child is tagged as 'human-genetically enhanced', and loses full citizenship rights."

"Meaning what, exactly?"

"Principally, it relates to the right to vote. On reaching majority, the child is prohibited from participating in any democratic process, either as a voter or a candidate for election. There may be other implications, too: complications when crossing borders; rights of the individual not being recognised by other planetary authorities..."

Sisko's jaw dropped. "Wait a minute... Are you saying that, if you were captured by, say, the Cardassians, your rights would not be covered by our treaties?"

Julian suddenly looked very uncomfortable. Reluctantly, he said, "I think it unlikely that my rights would be covered by Federation treaties, yes." Sisko half rose out of his seat to vent his outrage, but he was stalled by Julian, who smiled bitterly. "Quite frankly, Captain, the question is moot. Were any of us to be captured by the Cardassians or the Romulans, I suspect that the niceties of our treaties would be the least of our worries. Treaties or no treaties, neither of those powers are great respecters of Federation peoples, genetically enhanced or not."

Julian had a point, but the thought that he might have no legal rights made Sisko feel queasy. Now was not the time to dwell on the issue, though. Sisko took a deep breath, clenched and unclenched his fists, and said, "Right. Back to our hypothetical child... Genetic status has been declared and he's lost his full rights as a citizen."

"Next he is restricted in terms of permitted fields and levels of study, and career paths available to him."

Sisko remembered what Rear Admiral Bennett had said—no genetically enhanced person was allowed to join Starfleet or practice medicine—and he thought about Hunter's evidence at the tribunal. But from what Julian was saying now, the restrictions they'd talked about were the tip of a very large iceberg.

Sisko's queasy feeling segued into full-blown nausea. He swallowed the feeling down and said, "Go on."

"Genetically enhanced persons are prohibited from entering higher education, from entering the professions—which they couldn't do without the higher education, anyway—from participating in any kind of professional sporting competition, and from entering any security service. In addition to that, individual organisations may instigate their own policies, barring the entry of the genetically enhanced into their workforces, or even into their facilities."

That sounded like Federation sanctioned bigotry to Sisko. Every time he thought he'd found the limits to the Federation's prejudice against the genetically enhanced, something would happen to reveal yet more. It was like peeling the layers of an onion, or like playing a particularly malign game of pass the parcel. Sisko decided that he preferred the onion analogy, because he dreaded to think what surprise might lie at the centre of the parcel.

Worse, Julian had carried this knowledge with him for over fifteen years, tormented and isolated by the fear of what his life would become, should the truth ever come out.

Please, Sisko thought, let this be the end of it. Let there be nothing more. He hid his trepidation and asked, "So what's left?"

"Precious little," admitted Julian. "But that's not the worst thing for our child."

"There's worse?" exploded Sisko.

Julian nodded. "Remember our hypothetical child was not supposed to be able to develop capabilities beyond those of an average six- or seven-year old?"

"Yes..."

"According to the law, no genetically enhanced person can work beyond the level that was achievable in their pre-enhanced state."

"But that's—"

"Designed to discourage parents from having their children enhanced. Without these restrictions on the children, parents might still be willing to martyr their own futures for that of their offspring."

"My God..." breathed Sisko. No wonder Julian had lied and cheated to become a doctor. Until now, Sisko had thought that Julian had exercised an element of choice in his decision, that he had made a wilful—albeit understandable—decision to break the law. Sisko had assumed that Julian could have found something else to do, if he'd chosen to.

Julian had told him, right back at the beginning, that there were no opportunities for the genetically enhanced, and that legally he could do nothing with his "gifts". But Sisko had assumed that Julian had been making a bitter exaggeration. It hadn't crossed his mind that Julian's words had been the literal truth. Sisko hadn't understood. He hadn't been able to conceive of a life so narrow, so limited in scope. Sisko hadn't realised that Julian's only real choice had been to break the law or to do nothing at all.

"But parents still have their children enhanced," said Joseph.

"Yes," said Sisko thoughtfully, as he new understanding sank in. "But they don't declare their children's genetic status, and they go into hiding."

"Like your family did," said Joseph to Julian.

Julian nodded.

"All right," said Sisko. "We've now got a better idea about the legal implications of genetically enhancing a child. But I'm still not entirely clear what it means to you now, as an adult."

"To be honest, sir, neither am I. In fact, now I know Admiral Bennett made you my Advocate, I'm even less clear than I was before. Mostly, I've inferred my situation on the basis of what's happened to me."

"Nobody has sat you down and spelled anything out to you?" asked Sisko.

"No, sir." From the tone of his voice, Sisko gathered that Julian was surprised by the very idea that someone should have shown him that basic consideration. Sisko suppressed a sigh, frustrated yet again by Julian's perceptions of his place in the universe. But then, Sisko hadn't been exactly proactive, himself, had he? Why should he have expected anyone else to be?

"Well, then," said Sisko, forcing himself to be patient. "Tell us what you do know."

"All my records have been adjusted to reflect my genetic status. I've lost my full citizenship rights. And the only career options open to me now are those agreed in Admiral Bennett's deal. So long as I remain in Starfleet, I can work at my enhanced levels. But there is nothing open to me outside of Starfleet."

"Is that everything?"

"No," admitted Julian. "On the basis of what happened when I asked to see my father, the discretionary policies barring genetically enhanced people from accessing Federation facilities apply to me. And I'm apparently incompetent to oversee my own affairs." Julian paused, then said softly, "Captain... We need to talk about your being my...Advocate."

"I told you... It doesn't make any difference to me. I'm not going to control your life."

"You don't understand. Do I need to spell this out to you?"

"Yes, I'm afraid you do. Because you're making such a big deal out of this. Like this is more than something in name only."

"That's because it is more than something in name only! Don't you realise? If you are my Advocate then you have more responsibility for me than you do for your own son! I'm not... I can't... The Advocacy arrangement means that all my rights have been stripped from me. I'm not allowed to own or manage land or property. I'm not allowed to manage my own financial affairs. I'm not allowed to get married without your consent. I have no power to choose anything; my..._incompetency_...means that you have to make all my life choices for me."


	17. Chapter 17

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** To everyone reading, reviewing, following and favouriting: you're all wonderful. Thank you.

-=o=-

**Chapter Seventeen**

Nathan turned up the following afternoon, on his day off. He looked harried as he held tightly onto Patti's hand and made confused mutterings about a family crisis and how the usual child-care arrangements had fallen through. He pleaded with Joseph, asking whether Joseph, Julian and the others might look after Patti for just a couple of hours, please!

Joseph beamed happily, said, "Of course!" and scooped Patti up into the air, hugging her to his chest while her legs dangled and she squealed with delight. Then he passed Patti over to Julian and said, "She'll be fine with us."

Julian might have come top in his class in paediatrics, but he'd spent very little time with children beyond his medical duties. Although O'Brien had children, Julian didn't see much of them. Neither, for that matter, did O'Brien, because the children tended to be Keiko's responsibility, and Keiko was frequently away from the station for protracted periods of time, either on Bajor or, when the political climate was particularly unsettled, back on Earth. Jake and Nog had grown up, other children had left Deep Space Nine with their parents, and the school had closed several years before.

Thus, as with so many other things, Julian's knowledge of children and childhood was based less on experience than on a multitude of academic treatises, and Julian felt a little cautious about how prolonged interaction with Patti might go.

He needn't have worried. Patti was easily entertained, despite her attention span being short, and Julian found that he enjoyed their time together.

Julian let Patti help ready the table settings for the evening, although, without her help, he could have done the job in a quarter of the time. Then they moved on to making believe, casting Patti's doll into the role of a prince who needed rescuing, Julian as an ogre, and Patti a valiant princess who needed to vanquish him. Julian "died" in melodramatic fashion, and Patti squealed with glee.

Next they sat together at one of the bistro tables, an artist's PADD in front of them. This time it was Julian's turn to "help" Patti. In practice, this meant doing what he was told and colouring in the bits that were too big and boring for Patti to want to bother with. She was, Julian decided, a born commander, keen to delegate where she could.

Julian was in the middle of shading in a large brown area when he heard a knock on the closed front door. Julian glanced across the room in time to see Joseph release the locks and open it just enough to find out who was outside.

An unfamiliar male voice asked, "Is Julian Bashir here?" His accent was recognisably English, and similar enough to the one Julian had grown up with for Julian to take notice.

Quietly, Julian stood up and moved closer to the kitchen, choosing a vantage point from which he could see a olive-skinned man, who was standing as close to the threshold as he could get. The stranger was leaning forward and trying to peer over Joseph's shoulder, into the room beyond.

"Who wants to know?" Joseph crossed his arms.

"I think...I'm his uncle."

"You don't know?" said Joseph coldly, his reaction matching Julian's own.

Uncle? He had no uncles. In fact, apart from his parents, he had no family. Joseph knew that and was suspicious because of it. Plus, there was the little matter of the anonymous death-threat, which was cause enough to raise anyone's suspicions about anything that was in the least bit unusual—and that included unscheduled visitors who resembled and sounded like Julian's father.

The stranger said, with more confidence, "I'm his uncle. My name is Lionel Bashir. Julian's father, Richard, is my brother. And Julian's my nephew, although I haven't seen him for..." He looked as though he was trying to do a complicated calculation, gave up, and settled for saying, "...a very long time."

Joseph glanced in Julian's direction and raised his eyebrows.

Julian shrugged. This man—this stranger—had to be an impostor. Didn't he? Was it even remotely possible that what he said was true?

"He's inside, isn't he?" said Lionel, sounding excited. "Let me see him." Then, as an afterthought, he added, "Please."

It couldn't be true, Julian decided, and, that being the case, he might as well hear what the visitor had to say, find out who he really was, and send him packing.

Joseph looked at Julian again. After a couple of seconds, Julian nodded infinitesimally.

Joseph pulled the door open wider and said, with minimal warmth, "You'd better come in."

Lionel entered the restaurant, and Joseph closed the door behind him. Lionel raked the room with his eyes until he spotted Julian. Then the two Bashirs stood in silence, appraising each other.

Lionel wasn't as tall as Julian, and he was more stockily built. His pepper and salt hair was cut short. His nose was curved and his eyes, which were brown, were framed with laughter lines. This man smiled a lot, just as he was smiling now.

The smile unnerved Julian, although Julian couldn't have said why.

Julian didn't want to believe that this stranger was family because that went against everything he had been taught and told and knew about himself. Maybe this Lionel person had been altered to pass as a relation...?

Julian looked at him carefully. There were none of the tell-tale skin blemishes and discolorations that Julian knew to look for. Nor were there any traces of visible scaring. If Lionel had had surgery, then the standard of the work was excellent. The lack of any marks didn't entirely discount the possibility of his having had cosmetic work, although it did reduce the probability considerably. But why would anyone go to such lengths?

So, as much as Julian didn't want to believe that Lionel was family, he decided that Lionel's story was most likely true. Finally, reluctantly, Julian said, "You look like my father."

"Even got the same bandy legs!" said Lionel happily, gesturing down at himself. "Julian... It's good to see you!"

Julian stared back at him, unable to say the same.

Joseph walked over to Julian and quietly said, "Do you want me to stay?"

Thank heavens for Joseph and his intuition! How had he known that Julian wouldn't want to be left alone with the stranger quite yet? Equally quietly, Julian said, "Yes, if you don't mind."

Joseph patted his upper arm reassuringly, then, more loudly, he said, "Why don't you both sit down and catch up while I fix us all some coffee? And I'll get Grant to keep an eye on Patti for a while." Joseph gestured towards one of the bistro tables, and Julian knew that Joseph had chosen it deliberately because he would be able to see it clearly while he puttered around the kitchen.

Lionel accepted the invitation and sat. Julian followed suit. "So..." said Julian, edging into the conversation. "You're my uncle."

"Yes."

Julian inclined his head slightly, doing his best to adjust to this possibility. "My parents always told me that we had no other family."

Lionel's eyebrows rose. "But you knew us. We visited regularly before you all disappeared. Don't you remember?"

"No offence, but I don't remember a lot from...before."

"Oh. But you must know who I am, right? Your father must have mentioned me? Told you about me?"

"No."

Lionel's eyebrows rose. "Well, your father wrote me a letter. He told me, now your secret had come out, that neither he nor Amsha had any reason to stay away any longer, and so they'd decided to reconnect with their families. He said he wanted to get back in touch. I went to visit him."

"You've seen him?" asked Julian, curious in spite of himself.

"Yes."

"How is he?"

"He's...fine. Actually, he's doing remarkably well, given that he's in prison. But I know that he'd like to see you."

Julian shook his head. "They won't let me visit," he said tightly.

Lionel frowned but, to Julian's relief, he didn't pursue the matter. Instead, he said, "Well, I've been several times. After all these years, we have a lot of catching up to do. He's talked a lot about you, of course. He's very proud of you."

Julian nodded. His father had always been proud; Julian had never doubted that. The results of the enhancements had made him proud. It was his love and his motives for having Julian enhanced in the first place that Julian couldn't help questioning.

"He's worried about you. And then, of course, I heard about you on the planetary news, so I knew you were here. He can't come to check on you himself, but I could, and I thought... Well, I thought that I could meet you, and then I'd surprise him next time I see him. I'd—" Lionel bounced his fist lightly on the table. "Well, to be honest, I hoped I'd be able to reassure him, but—"

Julian didn't know what to say to that. There was little about his current circumstances that was reassuring but, equally, there was no point in making his father worry. It wasn't as though Richard Bashir could do anything.

Joseph arrived with the coffee things, which he put down on the table. Then he pulled out a chair and sat down with them. As he began to pour, Joseph said, "We're looking after him. You can tell Julian's father, he's among friends, and he's coping. Right, Julian?"

"Right," said Julian gratefully.

"So," said Lionel, looking at Julian, "tell me about yourself."

Julian shrugged. "What's to tell? My parents had me...altered. And I was a doctor, but I'm not any longer."

"What do you like doing? Hobbies?"

"Racquetball," said Julian automatically. "I like playing racquetball and tennis. And I've enjoyed helping out here."

"You don't have to say that, just because I'm here," said Joseph lightly.

"But it's true! I've learned a lot," said Julian earnestly. He turned to look at Joseph, eager to convince him. "It's been fun! I like helping out and watching the regulars and...and you've all been so good to me. I don't want you to think I'm just saying it to be polite. I'm saying it because it's true."

Both Joseph and Lionel looked at Julian. There was something unfathomable in both their faces, and their matching expressions puzzled Julian. Joseph seemed to think that he needed to be reassured because he said, "I know it is. And we like having you here."

Julian felt himself relax slightly, and he was grateful for the reassurance. Without it, the nagging suspicions that his presence was a burden and an imposition would most likely have come crowding back.

Joseph looked at Lionel and stepped in, filling the awkward gap in the conversation. "What do you do?" he asked.

"I design and script holoprogrammes."

"Would I have heard of any of them?"

"Maybe. They're not bespoke pieces. I write for the bulk market, nothing highbrow. Role-playing for the masses, mostly. There was one that was very popular a few years back. Action and adventure, set mid-twenty-first century, in the chaos after the third world war. Protagonists had to survive, capture enemies, and lay down the foundations of new government. There was lots of guns and fighting."

"Not quite my cup of tea, I'm afraid," admitted Joseph.

"What about you?" Lionel asked Julian.

Julian shook his head infinitesimally.

"No?" Lionel didn't sound overly disappointed. "What kind of programmes do you like?"

Julian thought for a moment. Then he said, "Early- to mid-twentieth century action adventure, for the most part. Anything later than that and the villains become too...predictable."

"Ah. You've got a point there. Trouble is, there is always a market for Nips, Tweaks and Iqs." Lionel suddenly seemed to realise who he was talking to. "Sorry about that."

"No. I'm s-sorry. I didn't mean to criticise what you do." Julian felt nervous and uncomfortable, and he felt an almost irresistible urge to put his index finger down his collar to loosen it. Plus, he could feel his old stutter struggling to make a comeback. Who was this man who treated Julian with warm familiarity? Maybe Lionel was his uncle, but Julian didn't know him, and the familiarity felt alien.

Lionel continued, "To be honest, you're still something of a surprise. It might take a while to adjust my world view to fit you into it."

"You don't have to."

"Maybe not, but I want to. You're my nephew. The thing is, until a few weeks ago, we didn't even know that you were still alive, let alone what had happened to you." Lionel sighed. "Perhaps I went about meeting you the wrong way. I shouldn't have turned up out of the blue. I should have contacted you beforehand, given you time to get used to the idea that I even exist."

Julian nodded. That might have helped. He needed time to assimilate Lionel's existence into his personal history, and he needed to know more about Lionel before he could even contemplate trusting him.

Lionel looked at Julian uncertainly, then he finished his coffee in a rush and stood up. He looked down at Julian, and said, "Well... I'll be going now. It's been good to see you." Julian wondered whether Lionel meant it. Maybe he wished it were true, but the reality of this meeting was something else.

Perhaps Lionel guessed at least a little of what Julian was thinking, because he said, "I didn't come here out of curiosity, or not only out of curiosity, anyway. I wanted to get to know you. You're family!"

Julian struggled to believe that Lionel was being honest. Finding out that he had extended family wasn't a seismic shift equivalent to finding out that he'd been illegally enhanced, but it came a distant second. Even more astonishing was the idea that members of that extended family might want to have anything to do with him.

"Please...think about what I've said. I, the rest of the family... We want to know you."

Julian said nothing, just watched him, feeling confused and slightly, nervously sick.

Lionel put a small chit of plastic on the table. "Here. These are my contact details. I'd love to hear from you, but I'll understand if I don't." He held out his hand. That gesture, more than his words, made Julian think that Lionel might actually be sincere.

Julian shook Lionel's hand and nodded again, but he didn't promise anything.

Joseph got up and walked with Lionel to the door. Julian, numb with the shock of the encounter, stayed sitting, not quite trusting his legs to work.

Julian stared down at the chit and listened in on the whispered conversation as the other two men said their goodbyes.

"He's not what I expected," said Lionel.

"What did you expect?"

"He was a sweet child. Smiled a lot. And his father... Well, Julian doesn't take after his father. Richard talks a lot. All the Bashirs do. I didn't expect the enhancements to have changed his essential personality."

"I doubt they have," said Joseph. "Benjamin says Julian has been uncharacteristically quiet since..."

"Since?"

"A couple of things, actually. There was the time Julian spent in a Dominion prison camp, and then, soon after he escaped, news of his enhancements was made public. I doubt he's fully recovered from the first, no matter what he says, and he's been having a hard time since the second."

Lionel stared. "He was in a prison camp?"

"You didn't know?"

"No. I mean, I heard something on the news about Dominion infiltration on a space station and an escape...and something about a plot to blow up a sun?"

"Yes."

"That was him?"

"He was one of the people involved, yes."

"Bloody hell."

As if drawn by some power out of his conscious control, Julian's hand reached out for the chit. He picked it up, turned it over and over, and finally put it into his pocket.

Julian missed the rest of the conversation as Patti, chased by Grant, pounded onto the patio, crying, "Ju'lan! I want Ju'lan. He _likes_ playing with Dolly!"

Wearing an expression of adult-to-adult sympathy, Grant looked at Julian over the top of Patti's head. However, although Julian understood where Grant was coming from, the sentiment was wasted on him. Julian said, "She's right. I do."

Grant shook his head, mystified. "Don't know how you have the patience. And I don't know where she gets all her energy! Oh, well. Have fun!"

"We will," said Julian to his departing back. "Won't we, Patti?"

Patti nodded her head up and down enthusiastically, and Julian found himself wishing that the rest of his life could be so easy.

-=o=-

Fahid looked sombrely at Mei-Lin and said, "We've got a problem."

Her eyes widened, struck by the seriousness of his expression. Carefully, she said, "What kind of problem?"

"My sister. She's been in touch with my parents. She wants to...reconnect...with the rest of the family, now that there's no longer any reason for her to stay away."

"Your...sister. The one who...died."

Fahid nodded. "Legally, she is dead. My family waited the full seven years after she disappeared and..." He shrugged.

"But now she's back and she wants to get in touch?"

"Yes."

"Oh. This is bad. Very bad."

"Yes."

"What's wrong with you? That's not just bad! That's a disaster in the making! If Father ever connects her to you..."

"I know. But I don't know what to do about it."

"I have an idea. Remember my brother...?"

-=o=-

Amsha zeroed in on Sisko as soon as she came in through the front door. "Is he here? Is he all right?"

Sisko turned to Joseph, who was standing next to him, and said, "Dad, meet Amsha Bashir, Julian's mother."

Joseph stepped forward and smiled warmly in greeting, just as he would have done had she been a customer. "Hello. I'm Joseph Sisko, Benjamin's father."

"I'm very pleased to meet you," said Amsha. Then, not to be distracted, she said, "Is he here?"

"I'll get him for you," said Sisko. He headed through the kitchen and into the alley, leaving Joseph and Amsha behind. The last thing he heard before he went through the back door was Amsha saying, "I've been so worried—"

Julian looked up from the day's buckets of clams as Sisko approached, his face asking the question he didn't voice.

"Your mother's here," said Sisko.

"She's here?" asked Julian, surprised. "Why?"

Anybody else would have known instinctively why a parent would have sought them out in a time of trouble, yet Julian did not. No matter how hard he tried, Sisko couldn't get his head around the Bashir family dynamic. Parents and son appeared to love one another, yet their actions and emotions seemed off-kilter, as if that one decision made so many years ago had twisted everything that had come after.

"We invited her. And, I think she's worried about you."

Julian shook his head slightly, and Sisko didn't need him to ask, "Why?" again to know that that was what he was thinking. Julian got up, untied his apron, wiped his hands on it, and said, "I'd better find out what she wants."

For a moment, Sisko was tempted to take the apron and pick up where Julian had left off. However, curiosity got the better of him and so Sisko followed Julian back into the building.

-=o=-

"Oh, Julian!" Amsha crushed her son to her chest.

"Mother."

Sisko watched as Julian buried his face into her neck and he marvelled at the change wrought by just a few weeks. Back when he'd first met the Bashirs, Julian had had to force himself to hug his parents. Now he willingly fell into his mother's embrace. Maybe inviting her to visit hadn't been such a bad idea, after all.

"This is all our fault," Amsha said. "Mine and your father's. If only we hadn't been so careless. If only we hadn't revealed—"

"Don't," said Julian, stemming Amsha's flow of remorse. "You did your best to make things right."

"But it hasn't helped, has it?"

Julian released his hold on his mother, pulled back, and looked away.

"Your licence!" said Amsha, and she looked close to tears.

"I can appeal," said Julian. But Sisko knew that Julian was saying the words more to comfort his mother than because he believed that appealing would actually do any good. "In any case, whatever happens, I still have my commission."

"But what will you do, if you can't be a doctor?"

Julian opened his mouth to reply, but then he closed it again.

Amsha turned to Sisko and said, "Captain?"

What did she expect him to say? He had no more answers than Julian.

Perhaps, then, he should take a leaf out of Julian's book and exercise a bit of diplomacy, similar to that which Julian had used moments before. He would weave the truth into something that wasn't quite a lie. "Julian has already had an offer from Starfleet Intelligence. There may be other opportunities out there."

"And you'll help him find them?"

"Mother..." protested Julian weakly. "It's not Captain Sisko's job to help."

"Maybe not," said Sisko. "But I'll try. Besides—" He bit off the rest of the comment. There was no point in upsetting Julian with a reminder that his role of Advocate might, in fact, mean that it was his job to help.

It crossed Sisko's mind to wonder whether Amsha knew that, and had known it ever since their conversation with Admiral Bennett, back on Deep Space Nine. Amsha gave no sign, one way or the other. Instead, she simply said, in that gracious way of hers, "Thank you, Captain." She didn't sound particularly grateful, though. Rather, she sounded more as though it was his duty, and she expected him to do nothing less. There was an almost regal arrogance to her manner.

Sisko wasn't sure that he liked her very much, but he resolved to try harder, if only for the sake of her son.

-=o=-

Julian gathered his belongings together, clearing the room for Amsha and preparing to relocate into the space he'd be sharing with Sisko. Amsha tried to help him, but Julian waved her off. He didn't have much to pack, and he knew he'd be quicker and more efficient if left to his own devices.

That didn't stop Amsha from nosing into his bags. She pulled Kukalaka out and asked, "What are you still doing with this ratty old thing?"

Julian felt his jaw tighten. "Put him back," he said stiffly.

"Don't you think you're too old for him?

"No," muttered Julian. Then he said again, "Put him back."

"But Jules...Julian. He's so worn and dirty. He really ought to go into the recycler." She moved towards the bin.

"Don't you dare!"

"Jules! Such a fuss over a bundle of rags and stuffing!"

"Don't talk about Kukalaka like that! And. Put. Him. Down!"

"Jules? Julian?" But she did as he'd demanded, placing the bear carefully face up on the bed and backing away.

Julian grabbed Kukalaka and wrapped his arms protectively around him. He stared defiantly at his mother.

She shook her head and said, mystified, "All this fuss over a toy?"

"He's not just a toy," protested Julian. "He's...special. You don't understand."

"You're right. I don't understand. It's just a toy."

"He's not just a toy! I was closer to him than to either of you! He was more of a comfort to me than you ever were. He was there for me all those times when you weren't." He felt sulky and petulant and ashamed of himself. But he didn't apologise because what he'd said was true.

Amsha looked at him, and he could see the hurt in her eyes. "When weren't we there for you?"

"When the other children picked on me. And in the hospital. Every time you and father told me not to make a fuss."

Amsha stilled. Then she said, "We thought it would be easier on you if we didn't make a big deal of things. We didn't want you to feel our worry; we thought that would only ever make things harder for you."

Julian shook his head, remembering Adigeon Prime. "All those treatments...they hurt. Everything hurt so much! I was scared all the time. And you left me alone. You didn't care."

Amsha moved forward, and Julian had to force himself to hold his ground. "We cared," said Amsha. "We loved you."

She'd told him that before, and he almost believed it. But some doubt niggled at the back of his head, asking whether theirs had been a normal kind of love. Had it been unconditional or self-serving? Had their motives been borne out of concern for him or for themselves? Had they wanted to make his life better, or had they just wanted a perfect trophy child of whom they could be proud?

But then...hadn't his parents come through for him, when his secret came out? Hadn't they sacrificed themselves for him? Hadn't that been an act of love?

Amsha put her hands on his upper arms and made him look at her. Intensely, she said, "We'll always love you, and we want what's best for you. We did what we thought was right for you. That's all any parent can do: make the best decisions they can, and hope." Then, more calmly, she said, "Come. Sit down."

Julian let himself be guided to the edge of the bed, and he and Amsha sat next to each other. With his right hand still clutching Kukalaka and his left captured between both of hers, she coaxed him to tell her his thoughts and feelings about what had been done to him and, finally, stripped of layers of accreted anger, he spilled out doubts and fears and insecurities and pain, and she cried for him. Then she told him how events had felt and unfolded from her point of view, and she reassured him that the last thing she'd ever wanted was to hurt him.

And, at the end of it all, they sat in silence. They still didn't see eye-to-eye over the choices his parents had made, but at least they understood each other better, and their differences no longer hurt quite so much.

-=o=-

Sisko sat down next to Amsha and followed her gaze with his own. Across the room, Julian was sitting with Patti snuggled against his side, his attention divided between the child and the book that they were reading together.

Over the last couple of days, Sisko had grown used to seeing Julian and Patti together. He wondered whether Nathan and Shanna had really needed a babysitter, or whether some sixth sense had made Nathan realise that Patti would provide Julian with a much-needed distraction.

Whichever it had been, the result was clear. Patti and Julian had bonded. Julian played with her, painted and drew with her, and allowed himself to be caught up in her make believe. He talked to her dolls and, most astonishing of all, when he was with her, he remembered how to smile and laugh.

Julian allowed Patti to bully him and order him around, and he acted as though every one of their shared activities was as exciting and new to him as it was to her. Right now, Patti was telling Julian the correct way to read aloud.

"No, no. Not like that! You have to do the voices!"

"Voices?" asked Julian.

"Yeah. Don't you know anything?"

"Apparently not," said Julian, sounding remarkably sincere. "So, how about you tell me?"

"When you read a story, you do the voices. Deep for a man, higher for a woman, growly for bear, mean for a witch. Stuff like that."

"Ah. I understand. All right, I'll try. But you have to tell me if I'm not doing it right, okay?"

Sisko glanced across at Amsha, who was staring besottedly at Julian, drinking him in. Fleetingly, Sisko wondered why, if Amsha was so devoted to her son, it had taken her several days to accept the invitation to visit.

Sisko wasn't sure what Julian and Amsha had talked about while they'd been sequestered away in the bedroom, but he had noted that Julian had looked exhausted yet calm when they had finally emerged. Amsha had looked serene, but then that was her usual expression. Since then, they'd seemed almost relaxed in each other's presence, and Sisko concluded that their conversation must have been a constructive one.

Sisko found Amsha hard to talk to. Their only common area of interest was Julian. Therefore, he, inevitably, became the focus of their conversations. Uncomfortable with the silence, Sisko initiated another one, kidding himself that it was a useful way to get to know more about the younger man. "What was Julian like, growing up?"

Amsha's face split into a doting smile. "Oh, he was a good boy!"

Sisko wondered whether that was true, or whether she was looking though rose-tinted lenses. No child could be that perfect, not even one designed to be.

"I understand that you moved around a lot," he said invitingly.

"We had to, after Adigeon Prime. First we went to Manchester. Then we moved to Canada. After that, we moved off-world. Then, when Richard got a job on a space transport, Julian and I returned to England for a while. Then we went off-world again..."

"Why did you move around so much?"

"Because Julian... Oh, it wasn't his fault! I mean, how could he have known when we didn't? We couldn't anticipate..."

"Anticipate what?"

"He'd do...something...that wasn't quite normal, and people would be astonished, and then they'd start watching, and, when that happened, we'd know it was time to leave. Things were easier when we were among other species. But Julian started thinking about careers, and Richard encouraged him. So, when Julian turned fifteen, we told him the truth. We had to. We needed to tell him why it was too dangerous to play tennis professionally, and to...prepare...him, if he wanted to study at Starfleet. And, when he moved to Earth, of course, we had no reason to stay away any longer, so we came home, too. It was good to be home again."

Sisko wanted to sigh. Julian's parents had clearly spelled out to him the reasons they'd had for going and staying away, and of the benefits of moving in alien societies. Had that consciously or subconsciously influenced Julian's choice of posting?

By living on the edges of multiple societies, Julian's parents had protected and shielded him. The behaviours and lessons of his parents had fed into and fuelled Julian's insecurities. As if Julian hadn't had enough other sources of insecurity and guilt! Even if all the moving around and hiding had been done with the best of intentions, they'd still left scars.

Memory capacity the size of a small planet, the computing speed to rival that of a starship's computer...and the life experience barely that of a teenager. Jake probably knew more about life and loss and loving than Julian did! Julian's life had been limited before Starfleet, and he had had only a few years of true independence, first at the academy, and then on Deep Space Nine, before everything had come crashing down. Now, thanks to the restrictions being placed upon him, his life was more limited than ever.

Julian had learned from his parents' example: don't let people come close. Run away when they do. His had been a narrow existence. Isolating.

Lonely.

But Julian wasn't one of nature's introverts. He craved society and companionship. He wanted it, yet he feared it, just as he had wanted yet feared recognition for his work. No wonder his behaviours sometimes seemed so contradictory! But, under the circumstances, and armed with the right lens to view them with, they were completely understandable.

"We thought we were doing the right thing," Amsha said. "We thought we would make his life better."

And you thought it would make your lives easier, thought Sisko. He wondered whether that was uncharitable of him.

"Only it hasn't made his life better, has it? Not in the long run," said Amsha sadly.

"If you had your time over again, would you make the same choices?" Sisko asked.

"I don't know," said Amsha, and Sisko decided that was the first thing she'd said that he trusted to be entirely honest.


	18. Chapter 18

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **I know that some people like to be warned ahead of time about certain things. However, I don't like given my plots away ahead of time. So, hopefully as a satisfactory compromise, I'm going to let you know that this chapter has blood, death and a fight...not necessarily in that order.

As ever, thanks to all you readers, reviewers, followers and favouriters. I really appreciate your continued interest in my story.

-=o=-

**Chapter Eighteen**

Julian placed his hand on Sisko's shoulder and hissed, "Captain!" as he shook Sisko awake.

"Jul—"

"Shush!" Julian put a finger up against his lips to reinforce the message. "Listen!"

"What am I supposed to be listening to?" Sisko mouthed.

"There's someone downstairs. An intruder." Julian cocked his head, shook it slightly, and then said, "Intruders. Two of them."

"You sure?"

Julian nodded. Then he gestured to his ears, and shrugged slightly, resignedly drawing attention to one of the things that set him apart. "They're in the hall. I heard the floorboards creak."

Sisko eased back his bedclothes, got up, and crept towards the door. He peered out, and Julian saw his shoulders relax as he straightened up. Julian raised his eyebrows; of course there was nobody there. What had Sisko expected? Julian had already said that the intruders were downstairs.

Sisko gestured to Julian and led him out of the bedroom, down to the first half-landing. They paused and Julian strained to hear. Then Julian mouthed, "Dining room."

Sisko moved forward, creeping down the next set of stairs, automatically avoiding all the squeaky treads that Julian guessed he had memorised in his adolescence. Julian copied his movements carefully.

They stopped at the doorway to the restaurant. From there, they could make out two silhouettes creeping through the kitchen.

Sisko pointed first at themselves and then at the intruders, and mouthed, "On three."

Julian nodded, and Sisko gestured the count with his fingers.

On the third count, they rushed through the dining area.

The intruders heard them coming. They tried to make it out of the back door, but they weren't quite fast enough. Sisko engaged with the closer of the two, clearing the way for Julian to catch up with the second, who had a hand on the doorknob and was just beginning to turn it. Julian clamped his own hand on a shoulder and forced the intruder to turn around.

Julian was peripherally aware of Sisko right-hooking his opponent in the jaw and following through with a left jab to the stomach, even as he landed a couple of decent punches on his own intruder. The force of Sisko's blow pushed his opponent backwards, into a pile of saucepans. The pans went flying with a cacophonous clatter.

Julian took a hefty blow to the temple. He blinked and shook his head to clear it.

Then he fought back, aiming for his opponent's solar plexus. His opponent dodged and countered and Julian felt a searing pain in his left side.

Julian cried out in surprise, even as he realised that, while he'd been clearing his head, his attacker had grabbed a weapon. He saw a flash as a glimmer of light reflected off the blade of a long, thin, kitchen knife. A remote part of Julian's mind recognised it as the razor sharp one that Joseph used for filleting fish.

Already he could feel the sting of the cut and the warmth of blood flowing across his skin, but he had to fight on, battling against his instinct to turn away and press his hands against the wound. He needed to focus on the attacker, defend himself, and make sure that his opponent didn't get the chance to stab him a second time.

The lights flicked on. Then Joseph's voice boomed, "What the hell is going on!"

The two intruders made the most of the distraction.

While Sisko's opponent swept pans and a tray of cutlery onto the floor behind them, Julian's finally got the door open. Julian's attacker yelled, "Come on!" and he and his companion legged it. Sisko tried to follow, but he got tangled up in the debris strewn across the floor. Julian also tried to give chase, but he gasped, stalled, and doubled over in pain.

Sisko must have heard Julian's gasp, because he turned and swithered, obviously torn between pursuit and helping. Julian panted heavily as he tried to gesture that he was okay and that Sisko should chase after the intruders.

"Go!" said Joseph, flapping his hands and moving towards Julian. "I'll see to him."

Julian watched Sisko run out of the back door and into the alley, even as he heard the sound of a transporter beam whisking the intruders away.

Sisko came back into the kitchen only fractionally more slowly than he'd left. "Let me see," he said, pushing in front of Joseph and trying to pull Julian's hands away from his side.

Julian almost asked who the doctor was, but he wasn't, was he? Besides, he couldn't twist around far enough to see the damage for himself and Sisko knew basic first aid.

Julian moved his hands. They were shaking, and his palms and fingers were warm and wet, and, when he looked, he saw that they were stained red and dripping. He heard himself asking, "How bad is it?"

"There's a lot of blood," said Sisko.

No kidding, thought Julian. Through gritted teeth, he said, "Tell me something I don't know."

Joseph said, more to himself that to either of the others, "I'm calling the emergency services."

"I need to put pressure on the wound," said Julian, but he wasn't sure that he could do it himself. Maybe Sisko or his mother could—

Then he felt a panic that drove all thoughts of his injury from his mind. Everyone in the building was accounted for except—

"Mother!"

Julian ran out of the kitchen and through the dining room, and then he took the stairs two at a time. He was only vaguely aware of Sisko following him, struggling to keep up.

-=o=-

Julian felt light-headed as he stared down at his mother. She looked quiet and peaceful, and when he called her and touched her, she didn't wake up. She was so still...

His arms, wrists and hands trembled as he reached out to check her pulse. He left red smears on her skin as he searched for her carotid.

He couldn't find the artery. He must be doing something wrong. Pain and weakness must be affecting his performance. He had to try again.

And again.

Again.

Dammit! He was better than this! He should be able to find her pulse point in his sleep!

Slowly, the truth sank in. She wasn't breathing, and he couldn't find a pulse because there wasn't one.

He raked her body with his eyes, looking for some clue as to what had caused this. Then he spotted a small, grey object lying next to her slack right hand. He reached out and picked it up. The object slipped in his grasp.

He held it up to his face. Sluggishly, his brain processed what his eyes were seeing. Hypospray. Empty. He peered at it, and under the blood smears he'd left on it, he managed to see letters. He recognised the name of the drug that the hypospray had contained as the same one that he'd been tempted to use on himself. He shivered.

The intruders had left this behind for him to find. They'd come in, killed—_murdered_—his mother, and had left evidence behind to make it look as though she'd committed suicide. If he hadn't woken up when he did, might he even have believed it?

He felt faint. Was that just because of his wound or because of something more?

There was no hope.

But—

He pulled the bedclothes off Amsha and rolled her onto her back. He started chest compressions.

One. Two. Three. All the way to thirty.

He breathed into her.

One. Two. Three...

When did something as simple as counting become so difficult? Not since he'd been Jules had this been so hard!

... Fourteen. Fifteen...

Concentrate.

... Twenty. Twenty-one...

Count.

... Thirty...

Breathe.

And again.

Hands braced. Pushing down on her chest. Concentrate. Count. Breathe.

Over.

And over.

And _over_.

Again.

But there was nothing. There was nothing he could do.

His hands were cramping and aching and shaking, and the shakes were spreading up his arms and through his body and he could feel the blood seeping down his side, trickling, sticking his pyjamas to his skin.

He couldn't see. His vision was blurring.

Concentrate. Press. Count. Breathe.

Then the room was suddenly full of noise and strangers. Someone pulled him out of the way and pushed him onto the landing.

He couldn't stand any longer. His legs gave way, and he fell to his knees. Only the banisters kept him from falling all the way to the ground.

He felt hands on his shoulders, bracing him, and he heard Sisko's voice yelling something about needing help here, and then the world spun out of control and he knew no more.

-=o=-

"She's dead."

"I'm losing his pulse!"

Sisko stood, back pressed against the landing wall, trying to make himself as small as possible as he listened and watched the police, who were dealing with Amsha Bashir in the bedroom, and the paramedics, who were working on Julian on the landing.

"Look at the mess in here!"

"What do you expect? He was trying to do CPR!"

"Where's all this blood coming from?"

"Hypo!"

"Did he do it?"

Sisko wanted to scream at them that, no, of course Julian didn't do it! Julian wasn't like that. How dared they assume—

"Blood replenisher!"

"—stable enough for transport?"

"They're supposed to be violent, aren't they?"

"Who?"

"His kind."

"You mean, he's the—"

"Yes."

"I _thought_ I recognised this address!"

"Ready to transport!"

"Wait!" cried Sisko. "I want to go with him!"

"You can't."

"But—"

"You're not family, are you? Didn't think so. Energise."

"At least tell me where you're taking him!"

The transporter beam grabbed the paramedics and Julian before Sisko got his answer.

With the paramedics and their urgent chatter gone, the landing suddenly felt enormous and empty, and Sisko felt stranded and alone. Without the competing conversation, the police suddenly seemed much quieter and more controlled, too.

Sisko moved to wipe a hand across his forehead, but he stalled the gesture when he saw that he had blood on his hands. Julian's blood. He felt bile rise up his throat, and he hastily swallowed it back down.

"Captain Sisko?"

Sisko jumped, startled. He spun around towards the speaker, and he saw a young woman dressed in the uniform of the New Orleans Police Department.

"The sergeant would like to talk to you now," she said.

Sisko nodded and let himself be led down the stairs, into the dining room.

"Hello, Ben. Been a while, eh?" The jovial greeting jarred.

Sisko looked the sergeant—Sergeant Theobald 'Theo' Garland—up and down and he struggled to focus on what Garland had said. He heard himself replying, "Last I heard, you were serving on the Coleridge. Since when have you been working for the New Orleans Police?" He began to hold out his hand, but again he saw the blood. He wished he could go and wash up.

Seemingly oblivious to Sisko's discomfort, Garland said, "Three years last month. After Wolf 359, I rather lost my taste for adventure so, when my tour in Starfleet ended, I decided it was past time to come home."

"It's good to see you again, even if—" Sisko shook his head. He felt as though he had been split in two. Part of him was making friendly small talk with an old school friend and the rest of him was still trying to assimilate the night's dramas.

Then the disjointed moment was over, and the two men looked at each other, putting their shared past aside and returning to the present. "Sit down, Ben," Garland said. "Then tell me, in your own words, what happened."

Sisko sat. "Julian woke me up," he began.

"Julian. That would be Julian Bashir? The Nip?"

Sisko felt himself stiffen. "Yes," he said curtly. "We've been sharing a room since his mother came to stay."

Garland raised his eyebrows, as though he thought there was something not quite right about that. "Go on," he said blandly.

"He said he could hear intruders downstairs."

"Could you hear anything?"

"No, but Julian's hearing is better than mine."

"Because he's been enhanced?"

"Yes," agreed Sisko.

"So you believed him."

"Yes. Of course."

"Then what?"

"We came downstairs. And we saw two people. By that time, they were already in the kitchen. We went after them. Got into a fight." Sisko closed his eyes briefly, trying to remember what had happened next. Things were a bit of a jumble.

"Were they male? Female? Human?"

"It was hard to tell. They were humanoid, certainly. But they were both dressed in dark, baggy clothes. And they had face masks."

"What about their sexes?"

Sisko thought, then shook his head. Then he remembered hearing one of them, the taller one, shouting, "Come on!" at the other. He looked at Garland and said, "The taller one... The one Julian was fighting... I heard him speak. Definitely male."

"And the one you fought?"

"Five foot eight, maybe. Competent martial artist, but not a trained fighter. Used to fighting for exercise, not trained to fight in earnest. You know the type."

Garland nodded. "We used to call them Sunday fighters, back in the Academy."

They'd called them worse than that, Sisko remembered. He got his mind back on track and said, "Sorry. I couldn't say for sure. Could have been male. Might have been female." But he'd assumed that they were both male, at least until Garland had asked the question and had planted a seed of doubt in his mind.

Sisko continued to sift through his memories. "Julian's intruder. At some point he had picked up one of Dad's knives. There was blood on it, but I didn't realise that until later."

"Blood," said Garland, not so much as a question or clarification as a nudge to move the interview along.

"He'd slashed Julian and, when they ran off, I didn't know whether to see to Julian or chase after them. By the time Dad reminded me that he was available to help, I'd left it too late and they got away."

Garland nodded again, jotted something on his PADD, and asked another question, then another and another, gradually teasing out details that Sisko hadn't realised he'd noticed, let alone remembered.

"Why did Bashir run upstairs when he did?"

"I'm not sure. But, like I said, Dad had come down by then, and we'd been making a lot of noise. If we'd woken Dad, why hadn't we woken Amsha Bashir? I went upstairs after him, while Dad was calling you guys."

Sisko didn't want to remember either the bloody trail he'd followed or the chaos he'd witnessed when he'd caught up with Julian. Julian had been pounding on Amsha's chest and breathing for her, but it had been desperation or denial that drove him, not any kind of realistic hope. Sisko had seen her staring eyes. He'd felt the stillness in the room, and he'd known that Amsha was no longer there.

He forced himself to continue. "And when I got up there... Julian was trying to revive his mother. Then you guys and the paramedics turned up." He looked at Garland and asked a question of his own. "Where have they taken him?"

"Bashir?"

Sisko nodded.

"I'm not sure. I'll need to find out, if I'm going to question him."

"I want to see him."

Theo shook his head. "Nobody gets to see him until after we've got his statement, and maybe not even then."

"What?"

"Ben... I know he's a guest in your father's house, but the fact remains, he's not like the rest of us. We can't take any chances."

-=o=-

Julian drifted on the edges of consciousness, his mind awash with a confusion of dreams and nightmares, memories and imaginings.

In a moment of almost-clarity, he wondered what had happened. He moved, and the sharp, jolting pain in his side reminded him.

He'd been stabbed. Mother! Blood...collapse...blackness.

Then waking up to this, whatever, this was.

Where was he?

He thought he blinked his eyes open, but he was back in the Dominion camp. Or, was he in the Institute? He was locked in, and there were bars on the window.

There were yellow people and guards and doctors and a hospital...

...and he woke up again.

-=o=-

Garland interviewed Joseph after he finished up with Sisko. Then, after Garland was done with Joseph, Joseph joined Sisko on one of the banquettes.

Sisko and Joseph both craved coffee but, when they asked if they could make some, Garland told them that the kitchen was off limits, and would be for a few hours more.

As the night progressed, father and son catnapped in snatches, while Garland's crime scene investigators worked around them. From time to time, Joseph would wake up and ask how much longer the police were going to be, bristling that, if he hadn't got the place cleaned up thoroughly by ten o'clock at the very latest, he wouldn't be able to open at lunchtime.

Time dragged. Finally, as night segued into morning, Joseph unwillingly reconciled himself to the restaurant remaining closed over lunch. He started calculating the deadline for being able to open in the evening, instead.

-=o=-

Julian cycled in and out of consciousness, the lucidity of his thoughts increasing with every wakening. Finally, when Julian blinked his eyes open, he was able to focus properly on his surroundings.

Where was he?

Waking up in strange places was getting to be a habit, a habit he desperately wanted to break. First there had been the Dominion camp. Then there had been the holosuite. Then the bedroom at Sisko's—although, he had to admit, that hadn't turned out so badly...at least to begin with. And now there was this.

More details sank in: railings around the bed; the beeping of monitors. He was in a hospital, and, if the sounds of the machines were to be trusted, not one that was state of the art.

When he tried to sit up, he found that, while he could move, it was painful, and he felt ridiculously weak. Thus, instead of sitting up, he settled for rolling over onto his side. From that position, he saw that there were bars on the room's window. In this day and age, nobody needed to use bars, not when there were forcefields and transparent aluminum to keep people in, but the bars were a nod to the past and, unlike those other things, they were a visual signal that he was in a secure environment.

Julian was in a room designed for single occupancy, and he could see a uniformed man on the other side of the door. He swallowed. What the hell kind of hospital was this? If there were bars on his windows and a policeman outside his door... Was he in a prison facility? Why? He hadn't done anything wrong.

Except... Oh. He was wrong.

-=o=-

Julian was lying on his back again, staring up at the ceiling. He absentmindedly traced its cracks with his eyes as he thought about his mother and the void created by her death.

Only a couple of days ago, Julian had accused his mother of not being there for him. Now, she really _wasn't _there, and he felt a gaping hole in the universe where she should have been. For someone who had been missing from large parts of his life, it was astonishing how much he felt her absence.

All the differences that they'd only just begun to bridge... He'd thought that there was no rush. He'd thought that they had years ahead of them...decades...all the time in the universe to put things right between them.

There were so many things he'd never know. There were so many things he'd never been in a hurry to find out. He thought of all the questions that he'd never bothered to ask. When had she known that she loved his father? How long had they tried for children before he was born? Had they only ever wanted the one child, or had his...problems...put them off trying for more? What ambitions had she had when she was young? Had she been happy with the life she'd ended up with?

Who were her family?

Uncle Lionel had said that she had planned to reconnect with them, but she hadn't mentioned anything, herself.

Julian's thoughts drifted off on a tangent. Had Lionel got it wrong, or had he been lying? For that matter, had he been lying about everything? Who was he, really?

Julian could have asked Amsha about Uncle Lionel. Probably he should have, but a lifetime of miscommunication, silence and reticence had subconsciously persuaded him not to.

His thoughts circled back to his mother, and everything he'd never found time to tell her.

As Julian lay in the not-quite dark of the hospital room, he tried to remember what Amsha had looked like. With his memory, it should have been easy to conjure up an image of her whole, healthy and smiling a typically serene smile. However, all his mind would give him were images of his final, futile struggle to bring life back to the dead.

-=o=-

It was gone seven by the time the investigators left and Garland returned the house and restaurant to the Siskos.

Again, Sisko asked where Julian had been taken, when Garland was going to see him, and when Sisko would be able to visit. Then, after a not very satisfactory conversation, Sisko finally went to wash up and get fresh clothes.

A shower wasn't as good as a strong dose of caffeine, but it helped clear a few cobwebs away, and Sisko felt—temporarily, at least—energised. Plus, it felt good to be clean, to no longer have to see and feel Julian's dried blood on his hands.

Julian... Sisko itched to know where Julian was and how he was doing, and he chafed at the not knowing.

By the time Sisko got downstairs again, Joseph had made coffee and was already hard at work, scrubbing down the counter surfaces.

-=o=-

The darkness beyond the window lessened into the gloom of predawn and then into full daylight. The artificial lights lowered even as the hospital came alive with the sounds of early morning.

A doctor and a nurse came by and wordlessly checked on his vitals. He tried asking them where he was and how much blood replenisher they'd had to give him, but they didn't answer.

An orderly came in some time later, and delivered a breakfast tray—toast and tea, served in plastic crockery and without cutlery. Julian couldn't bring himself to try to sit up, let alone to eat anything, hindered as he was by something more than the unappealing nature of the food. Instead, he lay on his side, his knees curled up and his back curved. His hand worried and crushed a fistful of sheet and his eyes stared unseeingly at nothing as he wondered and worried about what was going to happen now.

Finally, just after half past ten, the door opened, and Julian heard footsteps as someone crossed the room. The newcomer came to a halt, and then all Julian could hear over the sounds of the diagnostic panel and his own heartbeat and respiration, was the soft sound of the other person's breathing.

Julian warily turned his head, and found his vision filled with the dark uniform of a police officer. He twisted his neck some more, and his eyes tracked up the policeman's torso, past the rank insignia that identified him as a sergeant, and on to his face.

At first glance, the sergeant's expression looked bland, but the creases around his mouth showed Julian things that he was trying to hide. Julian's own wariness was being reflected back at him, magnified tenfold.

Julian made an effort to pull himself up so that he could lean against the pillows. A detached part of his mind noted that the effort required was as much mental as physical. The blood replenisher was working, and his side no longer gave him constant, searing pain. Instead, it merely stabbed at him with sharp jolts of sensation when he moved too far or too fast. Beyond that, the wound tingled with an itchy numbness mixed with a dull ache. He was getting better.

Even so, he winced as he moved. Julian saw the sergeant's eyes flick in the general direction of his midsection, to where he obviously knew the wound to be. There wasn't anything to see, though, as everything was hidden beneath the bedclothes. The sergeant didn't comment, not even to ask a vague question as to how Julian might be feeling.

When Julian had settled himself at last, the sergeant finally spoke. "I'm Sergeant Garland, New Orleans Police."

Julian inclined his head slightly in weary acknowledgement. "You're here about my mother?" he asked. "Do you want to sit down?" He twitched a hand towards the empty bedside chair.

Garland chose to ignore both the invitation and the chair. Instead, he remained standing, forcing Julian to crick his neck as he looked up at him. "I'm here about Amsha Bashir, yes. That and the break-in more generally." He pulled out a PADD and, without asking permission, set it to record. Then, he said, "Now. Tell me your version of what happened last night."

Julian struggled to ignore the brusqueness in Garland's tone, and he took a deep, fortifying breath. Then he said, "Well... I woke up."

He felt his forehead pucker into a frown. What had woken him? He closed his eyes and searched futilely for a memory that would help him to understand. Why hadn't he heard the intruders while they were in the upper levels of the house? Why had he only heard them when they were back downstairs?

His failure to wake up sooner gnawed at him. If only he'd woken up earlier... Maybe then he could have stopped them. He might have saved her.

"Go on," said Garland, and Julian could hear his irritated impatience. Julian tried to ignore it.

"I don't know what woke me. But I could hear movement below. Footsteps. I got out of bed and woke the captain. I told him I could hear someone—two people—downstairs. He couldn't hear anything, so he asked whether I was sure. I told him that I was." As he had done last night, Julian gestured towards his ears. Garland's lips tightened and thinned even more. Julian tried to ignore his reaction. Determinedly, he carried on. "I could hear voices. Someone banged into something, and I heard furniture scraping across the floor."

"The voices you say you heard," said Garland. "Were they male or female?"

Julian's forehead pulled into a deeper frown. "I'm not sure. One was male, I think. The other... I don't know. It was too quiet, more of an impression than actual sound."

Garland pursed his lips but didn't comment.

Julian continued. "I could hear footsteps, too. The captain got out of bed, and I followed him onto the landing."

"You could hear the intruders. Sisko couldn't. But you followed him?"

Put like that, it didn't make much sense, but Julian tried to explain anyway. "He took the lead. And he is my commanding officer. Plus, he knows the house better than I do. He knew which stair treads to avoid, so as not to make noise."

Julian paused as he realised that the intruders couldn't have known where the creaky boards were. Another anomaly. Another thing that could have—but hadn't—woken him up. Another missed opportunity. He sighed.

"Go on," said Garland.

"We got to the dining room, and we could see the intruders heading into the kitchen."

Julian described how he and Sisko had attacked the intruders and the fight that had followed. Garland let him talk, but Julian was left with the distinct impression that he wasn't telling Garland anything he didn't already know.

When he got to the parts of the tale that dealt with realising that his mother wasn't with them, his going upstairs, and the discovery of the empty hypo, Julian's voice cracked with remembered horror. He felt again the haze of desperation that had enveloped him as he'd tried to help Amsha...

Garland listened dispassionately, then said, "You contaminated a crime scene."

"I didn't mean to."

"So you say."

Reluctantly, as if the admission pained him, Julian said, "I have an eidetic memory. I remember everything, down to the last detail. I can tell you what I tainted, if you want."

"Are you trying to rub my face in it?" asked Garland abruptly, his hostility cranking up a notch.

"Rub... What?" asked Julian, puzzled and perturbed.

"That you're superior to the rest of us?"

"What? No!" Julian felt his cheeks warm. "I was just trying to help!"

"So you say," Garland said again. "The hypospray had your fingerprints on it."

"I told you already. I picked it up when I found her."

"Or you could have been covering up the fact that you had been the one to drug her in the first place."

"If I'd drugged her, then what were those other people doing in the house?"

"Maybe it was just a coincidence that they broke into the building at the same time that you were committing matricide." Garland's enthusiasm for his theory was palpable, and it grew as he continued to speak. "You could easily have killed her before you woke Sisko up, and you're the only person we've been able to place in her bedroom. You're the one who 'found' the hypospray, conveniently when it was too late to do anything to save her."

Julian's eyes widened at Garland's accusation, and he protested loudly, saying, "I did not murder my mother!"

"Are you saying that you've never killed anyone? That you're incapable of violence? You're a Starfleet officer. You've been trained to kill. I know, because I had the same training."

It was true that, under certain circumstances, Julian was capable of killing. Julian had slashed a Jem'Hadar's neck open with a homemade tool. It had been a brutal, dirty killing, and it was something that still haunted and sickened him. So, yes, he could kill. But that had been to save someone else's life. He couldn't kill like this. Not like this!

Implacably, Garland went on, looking directly at Julian. "You had the means and the expertise. Plus, in eighty per cent of murder cases, the murderer knows the victim. In almost a fifth of cases, the murderer is a family member."

Julian could feel the knot of accusations tightening around him. He protested again. "I didn't kill her!"

Julian tried to squelch down his unease. He knew he had truth on his side, but Julian's trust in truth and justice had taken a severe beating over recent days, and he couldn't be sure that justice would prevail.

Garland continued relentlessly. "There are plenty of precedents for doctors killing people: Harold Shipman in the twentieth century; Goldman-Frick in the twenty-second; Prim Yang in the twenty-third; Yol Tay, and that was only fifty years ago... What makes you any different?"

Julian managed to lift himself into a sitting position. "I didn't kill her," he said, his face warming with frustrated anger. "She was my mother! What can I say to convince you?"

"Nothing," said Garland. "And, until I find out for sure that you didn't kill her, you're not to leave Earth."

-=o=-

Sisko had tracked Garland to the hospital. Now, as Garland interviewed Julian, Sisko stood in the corridor outside Julian's room, peered through the glass pane in the door, and waited.

Standing when exhausted was an old trick, one that his first commanding officer had taught him. If you fell asleep sitting down, the old captain had said, you'd stay asleep. However, if you were standing up, you'd nod off, stumble, and wake yourself up. Sisko didn't want to sleep just yet, and, tired as he was, he didn't dare risk sitting in one of the hard chairs that the hospital provided. Thus, Sisko resolutely remained on his feet and brooded.

He wanted to know what was going on in Julian's room. He wanted to be in there, too. He'd tried asking, and then he'd tried demanding, to be allowed in with Garland, but all to no avail.

He frowned, wondering whether he should have fought harder to be allowed in. Could he have used his power as Julian's Advocate to require it?

When this was over, he would have to find the time to figure out what the Advocacy arrangement really meant, both for him and for Julian.

He'd caught a glimpse of Julian when Garland had gone in to see him, but the curled figure had been mostly hidden by the bedclothes, and Sisko hadn't seen enough to reassure him. Since then, Garland's body had blocked Julian from view.

Sisko peered through the glass again, and again he felt his ire rise as he took in the details of Julian's accommodation. They'd put Julian in a secure room, in what amounted to a prison cell! Sisko worried because he knew that Julian had to be uncomfortable there. Waking up in yet another strange place...locked in...surrounded by strangers...

The scenario mirrored too many of Julian's nightmares. Julian wasn't locked up because the police had reason to believe he'd committed a crime or that he was violent. He'd been locked up because they'd assumed.

Sisko wished that Garland would hurry up, because only when the interview was over would he be allowed to see how Julian was doing for himself.

Sisko closed his eyes and tried to push the images of the previous night's chaotic confusion out of his mind's eye. He attempted to recount twenty-first century baseball scores in his head, something he usually found to be an effective meditation exercise. He couldn't concentrate though, and impressions of blood and people and noise kept intruding into his consciousness.

Long seconds dragged into longer minutes. After something approaching an hour, the door opened.

Sisko stepped in front of Garland and asked, "Well?"

"Well, what?" said Garland.

"Can I see him now?"

Garland shrugged offhandedly. "Fine by me, but you'd probably better check with the doctors first."

Sisko nodded and ventured another question. "You don't honestly think he had anything to do with his mother's death, do you?"

Garland made a point of making sure that the door was firmly closed behind him before he answered the question. "Maybe. Maybe not. He says he didn't do it, and his version of events matches yours and your father's. But, just because you had a break-in, it doesn't mean that he didn't kill her. Oh, and just so you know... I don't have enough on him yet to take him in custody, but I've told him that, until this is all sorted out, he's not to go off-world."

-=o=-

"Captain," said Julian, and although Julian had tried to hide it, Sisko heard the relief in his voice.

"Julian. You okay?"

Julian nodded. "The doctors have patched me up. I'll be fine."

Sisko considered him carefully. Once, Sisko would have taken Julian's words at face value. Now he knew better.

"Do you know...when..._if_ I'll be able get out of here?"

Julian had asked if, and it hadn't been a careless slip of the tongue. Sisko thought about what Garland had said; he didn't have enough on Julian to take him into custody...yet. Sisko felt uneasy. "I can go ask the doctor _when_ you'll be able to leave, if you'd like?"

"No... It's all right. Stay. Please."

Sisko wondered whether he was reading too much into Julian's request and decided that he wasn't. Julian wouldn't come right out and say it, but he didn't want to be left alone. Sisko nodded and said, "I'll stay for as long as the hospital staff let me."

"Thank you," said Julian, and Sisko was sure that there had been more than politeness and gratitude in his words. There had been relief, too.

-=o=-

Eventually, a little after five o'clock, the hospital's doctor finally decided that Julian was fit enough to be discharged.

Sisko handed Julian the fresh set of clothes that he'd had the foresight to bring with him, and said, "I'll wait just outside while you change."

"Thank you."

Being dressed in his own things made Julian feel better. It was almost enough to convince him that he was going to get away from here, but he knew that he would only truly believe it when he'd put the entire building far, far behind him. Then again, how free was he, if he wasn't allowed to leave the planet? He was under suspicion and he felt vaguely sick at the thought.

He folded up the hospital smock neatly and placed it on the end of the bed. Then he left the room with a huge sense of relief and without a backwards glance.

Sisko and Julian walked in silence through a maze of corridors that all looked the same until they came to an exit. Then, once outside, when he was able to breathe more freely, Julian finally asked a question he'd felt too uneasy to voice earlier. "What do you think of Sergeant Garland?"

Sisko glanced at Julian. "Why do you ask?"

"Just curious, I guess. I couldn't work out whether he treats all his suspects that way, or whether it was just me."

"Treats them in what way?"

"Like he doesn't like them. Like they aren't worthy of his respect. He was...argumentative. He thinks I killed Mother, and he was provocative."

"He managed to get information out of me that I didn't know I knew," said Sisko. "He seems very effective at his job." They walked on for a few paces, then Sisko said, "We were at school together."

"You and Sergeant Garland?"

"Yes. Then we both went to the Academy."

Julian absorbed that information. "He was in Starfleet." He nodded to himself, remembering what Garland had said about having had the same training as Julian, and about knowing how to kill people.

"Yes. He served on the Andromeda and the Coleridge. He left the service after Wolf 359."

Julian heard the understanding in Sisko's voice. Julian had heard the rumours around the station back at the beginning, and he knew that at one point Sisko had been tempted to do something similar.

"Theo's an okay guy," said Sisko, and Julian wondered whether Sisko was trying to reassure Julian or himself.

-=o=-

They transported back to the restaurant. It took effort and courage for Julian to go inside, but he need not have worried, because Joseph and his staff had cleaned away all traces of the previous night, and the restaurant looked and sounded as it usually did in the early evening. There was bustle and chatter, and all the activity overrode Julian's memories of clattering and chaos and pain.

Joseph greeted Julian with a sympathetic smile and a, "Welcome back," as he carried two platters across to table seven. Grant waved at him from across the room, taking precious seconds out from taking a customer's order, and Patti screamed, "Ju'lan!" as she ran across the room to hug his legs.

"Hi, Patti," he said with a smile that felt surprisingly genuine. He swept her up into the air, perched her on his hip and hugged her tight.

-=o=-

Nobody suggested that Julian should move back into Jake's room. Similarly, neither Sisko nor Joseph wanted to sleep there. So Julian and Sisko continued to share the spare room. Julian tried to be discreet about it, but Sisko knew that he was having problems sleeping.

On the third morning after Amsha's death, Sisko woke up to find that, sometime during the night, Julian had retrieved an old, battered bear and had fallen asleep, clutching it tightly, the bear's head nestled under his chin.

Sisko found the sight of a grown man drawing comfort from a soft toy to be vaguely disturbing. For a fleeting moment, Sisko wondered whether this was a legacy of Jules, a vestige of Julian's pre-enhanced personality. But Sisko dismissed the idea. It was too pat to blame the enhancements or the problems they'd sought to solve for any quirks in Julian's current behaviour.

More likely, and frankly more troubling, was that Julian had felt the need to draw comfort from somewhere, and the bear was the only source of comfort he'd felt able to turn to. Seeing Julian cuddling the bear in his sleep made Sisko wonder whether the support they were offering him was doing any good, and just how deep Julian's insecurities went.


	19. Chapter 19

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Lots of thank yous, as usual. I treasure every reader, reviewer, follower and favouriter, and I value all the interest you show.

-=o=-

**Chapter Nineteen**

Sisko found Julian leaning over the fire escape's railings, letting his arms and legs dangle in the air. Sisko smiled reminiscently. Jake liked to sit that way, too, while he watched the sky turn from day, through twilight, into night. Sisko remembered that he had also sat like that when he was younger, and, later, in the desolate haze of Jennifer's death. His smile faded.

Sisko settled himself next to Julian and asked, "What are you doing?"

Julian shrugged. "Thinking."

"What about?" Sisko asked. "If you don't mind me asking."

Julian looked down at his hands. Sisko followed the direction of his gaze and noted just how tightly Julian had knotted his fingers together. "This and that," Julian said. "I was remembering. And regretting."

"Ah," said Sisko. Never underestimate the power of a good fire escape as a place to mourn, he thought.

"My mother... She wasn't a big part of my life, not after..." Julian shrugged again. "I didn't think she was there, but now she's gone, it's as though there is a huge gap in my life, and we had...so much unfinished business."

Sisko sighed. "Everyone feels like that, when they lose someone close to them."

"Do they?"

"H'm."

"I wish..."

"Of course you do."

"I should have told her that I loved her."

"She knew, Julian."

Julian turned his head to stare disbelievingly at Sisko. "How can you possibly know that? How do you know things like that, when I'm the one who's supposed to be—" Julian broke off abruptly, and looked away again.

"It's all right to say it," said Sisko. "I won't be offended."

Julian slowly turned back to Sisko, and Sisko was once again struck by how full of expression his eyes could be. How easy to read.

"I was enhanced. My IQ was increased. I'm supposed to be so bloody clever, but I still don't understand things that other people grasp with ease. What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing's wrong with you."

Julian shook his head, and Sisko could tell that he wasn't satisfied with the glib reassurance. "Sometimes I think that the doctors on Adigeon Prime missed bits out when they...made me," he said.

"I don't think they missed anything out. You're you."

"Am I? I don't know how much of me is...real...and how much was manufactured."

"Even if everything were manufactured, that wouldn't stop you being real."

"That's easy for you to say," muttered Julian. He was looking down at his hands again; his fingers were restlessly twining and untwining, and the skin of his knuckles was white with tension.

"Maybe it is," said Sisko. "I didn't know you before, so I have no way of knowing for sure how much you changed. But you should remember that I've known you for well over four years now, and in all that time I've never thought that there was anything particularly odd about you, or that there was anything missing. Also, nobody on Deep Space Nine had any idea that you'd been enhanced."

"You weren't supposed to."

Sisko almost smiled. "I realise that. But even so, that should still tell you something." Then, after a brief pause, he asked, "Have you ever talked about this with anyone?"

Julian shook his head. "Who could I talk to?"

"But it has preyed on your mind, hasn't it?"

"Yes."

"Tell me if I'm way off base here, but you worry about more than things being missing, don't you? You worry about things being...wrong."

Reluctantly, as though the admission was being pulled from him, Julian nodded and said, "I...get frightened whenever I feel angry. I don't want to be angry. And, when I've...killed...I've felt sick afterwards, because I wonder what evil is inside me. Am I like the Augments? Am I like...Khan?" Julian whispered the name.

"But being angry..." said Sisko. "That's normal. It's human. Holding it all in—_that's_ unnatural."

Julian twisted around and stared, and Sisko was left with the impression that Julian had never before properly considered the possibility. Tentatively exploring the notion, Julian asked, "But... What if... What if I get angry, and I can't turn it off?"

"Do you think that's likely?"

"I don't know."

"Well, I do. And I honestly don't think you have it in you to be like the Augments. You're not Khan. You're Julian Bashir, and you're a good person."

Sisko could see in Julian's eyes the desperate hunger to believe, and Sisko knew he had to say more. "Do you remember what Admiral Bennett said, back in my office?"

"Yes...?" said Julian.

"He could tell that you weren't Khan. He didn't know you, other than by reputation, and he could tell. It's obvious, at least to anyone who bothers to look." He paused, then said, "You know what I think?" He continued without giving Julian a chance to reply. "I think that you've been conditioned to believe that something's wrong with you. You've been taught that genetic enhancement has negative side effects. You've been looking for flaws ever since you found out, haven't you?"

Julian's eyes widened with amazement. "How... How did you know?"

"Lucky guess." Sisko shrugged. "Did it ever cross your mind that any failings or flaws you have are normal?"

Julian's silence was answer enough.

"They're not mistakes, or omissions. They're just a part of who you are, like flaws are a part of us all. We all get angry," Sisko said. "We all have the capacity for violence, if we're pushed hard enough. If that's inside you, it's because you're human, not because you're different. Now, if you weren't worried about it, _then_ I'd be worried about you."

Julian turned away and looked down the street. He and Sisko sat in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. Sisko wondered whether anything he'd said had got through to Julian.

Then Julian said tentatively, "May I ask you a question, sir?"

"Of course."

"Do you think souls exist?"

Sisko's eyebrows rose. "What kind of a question is that?" he asked, astonished.

Julian didn't answer. Instead, he seemed to shrink into himself, to become smaller somehow. Sisko realised that his answer mattered very much, and that he had hurt Julian with his reaction.

Sisko reworked his question so that it lost its dismissive edge. "Why do you want to know?" he asked gently.

"Because..." Julian lapsed back into silence.

"Go on," encouraged Sisko. "You can tell me."

Julian whispered, "It's one of the things I worry about."

"What?" Sisko asked, puzzled.

"Jules Bashir died in a hospital room on Adigeon Prime. I'm just...what was left behind. I'm nothing. I'm hollow. Empty. So, so empty."

Empty... Julian had said something about that, back in the bathroom, but Sisko hadn't given it any particular thought at the time, lost as it had been amidst so much other pain.

"You don't really believe that, do you?"

"I try not to. But sometimes, especially at night... If Jules died, then his soul must have moved on to the afterlife. Or worse, sometimes I dream that I stole Jules's soul, and I can never do enough to make that right, no matter how hard I try."

"Oh, God..." whispered Sisko, appalled. So that's what Julian had meant... More loudly, he said, "But you _are_ Jules Bashir. You're the same person. So you can't have stolen anything."

"I don't feel like the same person." Julian shook his head. "I don't expect you to understand. You're not—"

"I'm not, what?"

"A monster," said Julian sadly, looking away and down again.

"You're not a monster!" Sisko protested. He was out of his depth and drowning fast. If that was how he felt, how much worse must Julian feel, who'd been carrying this with him for half his life?

How come Julian had always seemed so enthusiastic, so happy, so cheerful about everything, when he was carrying this around with him? And Sisko realised: denial, distraction and overcompensation.

Sisko needed to tackle this. Now he knew the scope of Julian's fears, he knew that there was no way he could leave this conversation hanging. He couldn't begin to imagine how much courage it had taken for Julian to voice something so devastatingly personal. What would it do to Julian's ability to trust if he thought Sisko had dismissed his problem as unimportant? Sisko had one chance to get this right, and the responsibility weighed heavily on him.

Sisko offered up a silent prayer to any deity that might be listening and followed his instincts. "Do you trust me?" he asked.

"Yes," said Julian, but he didn't sound too sure.

"Then trust me when I tell you, you're wrong. You _are_ Jules. You haven't lost or stolen anything. You're you. You always have been. If you never believe anything else, I need you to believe that."

Finally, Julian turned back to look at Sisko again. His eyes glittered and his mouth twisted as he said, "I want to, Captain. I just don't know if I can."

"Try. At the very least, think about what I've said. And, back to your original point... What you're feeling is perfectly normal. Don't think, just because you were enhanced, you behave any differently from anyone else. A few extras aside, you _are_ just like anyone else." Sisko reached out, placed his hand on Julian's shoulder, and squeezed lightly, letting the gesture add force to his words.

Julian swallowed. Then, his voice thick and unsteady, he managed to whisper. "Thank you, Captain."

Sisko remembered Telnorri's comment: it was a wonder that Julian coped as well as he did. Telnorri had told him that Julian had never received any counselling for what had been done to him. Even so, Julian's issues ran much deeper than Sisko had ever imagined, probably deeper than Telnorri had realised.

Yet, they helped to explain so much: Julian's drive; the way he fought on behalf of others beyond anything that could reasonably be expected; his despair when he'd lost his licence...

All this time... All these years, Julian had been trying to make amends, to make restitution for a cosmic wrong that had been done to a little boy named Jules.

And this was the man Starfleet Intelligence wanted to recruit? It would be like sending a lamb to the slaughter! Julian might like to play the spy in Quark's holosuites, but that was all he did: play. Someone less suited to being an operative, Sisko could not imagine.

What Julian needed was a mentor, someone he could talk to, someone who could help him navigate his way through everyday life and reassure him that most of his differences only existed in his mind. He also needed colleagues who would watch out for and care about him. The last thing he needed was to be used, abused and devoured by the world of espionage.

Sisko patted Julian's shoulder as he removed his hand again.

They sat together as the sun set.

-=o=-

The next day, before Sisko left for his meetings, Julian tentatively raised another issue that had been preying on his mind. "Do you have any idea what will happen about my mother's body?"

"I don't know," said Sisko.

"I've left a couple of messages with the police department, but nobody has got back to me, and I keep wondering about the funeral arrangements."

"You could try asking Theo...Sergeant Garland."

Julian felt a wave of repugnance wash over him, and his shoulders stiffened.

Sisko's eyes narrowed. Then, as though he might be testing Julian's reactions, he said, "Do you want to head over to the precinct and ask?"

"H'm," said Julian vaguely. He wanted to say no.

Sisko tried another question. "Do you want me to come with you?"

Julian felt pathetic but, if he was going to enter the proverbial lion's den, it would be easier, and comforting, to have someone else with him. He raised his eyebrows slightly, then said, "Would you?"

"Of course," said Sisko. "Come on. I've got a couple of hours before I need to be in San Francisco."

-=o=-

Julian and Sisko waited in the police station's reception area for Theo Garland to appear. Sisko glared at the officers who were staring at Julian, while Julian did his best to avoid everyone's eyes and look detached from it all. He might have succeeded, were it not for the thinness of his lips and a slight tightening of the skin around his eyes, and Sisko, at least, wasn't fooled. Sisko wondered when he'd started noticing things like that.

Finally, Garland appeared. "Ben," he said in greeting. Then, with noticeably less warmth, he said, "Bashir. Come this way."

He led them into a cramped interview room, where they all sat around a small, worn table. Sisko wondered whether the monitoring equipment he could see was switched on and, if it was, who was watching. Garland waved them into chairs and said, "So. What can I do for you?"

Julian glanced at Sisko, then he looked at Garland. Finally, he said, "It's about my mother. Her body. I want to know when you will be able to release it for burial."

Garland's eyebrows rose. "Not for a while yet. Not until after we've finished our investigation, or when the coroner gives us permission. Plus, we'll need to find someone we can release the body to."

"What?" asked Julian blankly, while Sisko leaned forward in his chair, letting his body language ask his question for him.

"Well, he doesn't count," said Garland, looking at Sisko and pointing his thumb carelessly in Julian's direction, "And Amsha Bashir's husband is in prison."

"What do you mean, he doesn't count?" ground out Sisko. "He's her son."

"Not legally, he isn't."

Sisko and Julian stared at Garland, stunned. Garland looked from one to the other, then said, "You didn't know?"

"No," said Julian softly.

Sisko said, "I think you'd better explain."

"We took legal advice," said Garland, still speaking to Sisko, rather than to Julian. "The lawyers told us that the changes made to his genetic code were sufficiently extensive that he can no longer be considered the biological child of his parents. He and his parents would fail any and all paternity and maternity tests. Legally, he has no claim over Amsha Bashir's mortal remains; we can't release her to him."

Outraged at this latest snub, Sisko moved to stand up, wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible before he said or did anything he might regret. Julian moved to follow suit. However, before either of them managed to get to their feet, Garland made them sit down again and said, "Since you're here, I might as well ask you a few more questions." For the first time, he was looking at, and speaking directly to, Julian.

Julian waited silently for Garland to continue.

"I've been asking around," Garland said, "and I found out that you've been estranged from your parents for a number of years. Would you care to explain that?"

"Why?" asked Julian, his attention focused sharply on Garland.

Sisko wondered how Garland had found out about Julian's relationship with his parents. While it was hardly a secret, Julian wasn't inclined to talk about it, Sisko knew that he hadn't mentioned it, and he doubted that Joseph would have done.

Julian said, "If you know we were estranged, then you obviously already know why. Besides, we'd put all that behind us."

That wasn't quite true, Sisko thought, but it was close enough. Even if the rift hadn't been fully mended, it had been patched, and the healing process had begun.

"You resented being enhanced," said Garland. "You were angry that your parents had you Augmented. You hated what they'd done to you, the position they'd put you in. You hated them! And that's why you killed her!" Garland leaned forward, punctuating each accusation with a jab of his forefinger.

With each statement, Julian leaned further back in his chair. He paled a little more with each accusation up until the last, when his face flushed. "No!" he snapped. "I didn't hate them! I didn't hate her! And I didn't kill her! I told you before: she was already dead when I found her."

"Do you still have your medikit?"

"Yes," said Julian, sounding surprised at the change in topic. "For the moment, anyway. Starfleet Medical hasn't asked for it back yet, though I suppose it will eventually."

"Meanwhile, you still have access to drugs...hyposprays... It would have been easy for you to kill her then sneak back to bed. You would have told everyone that she'd committed suicide. But, instead, you heard the intruders, and that gave you the opportunity to use them as scapegoats."

"No," said Julian. The word came out loud and defensive.

"You had motive. You have the knowledge and the means. You had opportunity."

"I didn't do it!"

"I think you did."

"Then prove it!"

Garland smiled coldly, and didn't bother to reply.

-=o=-

Julian lay awake, his eyes open and fixed on the ceiling. Shadows played across the white plaster, forming muted not-quite geometric patterns that some part of his brain insisted on trying to reorganise into a more satisfying whole. Meanwhile, the much larger part of his mind was occupied by bigger problems.

He hadn't killed his mother, but Garland seemed intent on proving that he had. Why? Because Garland believed that Julian, as an Augment, couldn't have helped himself? Because it was a good excuse to lock him away? Or was it simply that it was the easiest—laziest—solution to Garland's investigation?

Garland's investigation was just the latest in a huge set of problems facing Julian. Their cumulative weight burdened him down, sickening and exhausting him. It was all too much.

But...

What if it wasn't a huge _set _of problems at all? What if they were interconnected, a coordinated conspiracy with...with whom...at the centre? It seemed a fanciful notion, but... Could it be possible? And, if it were, who was responsible?

Bennett? Delon? Someone else entirely?

Or maybe Julian was being paranoid.

Maybe this was his life now. Maybe this was the true shape of prejudice.

But...

Julian couldn't accept that. He didn't want to accept that all the ideals he'd sought to live up to were no more than hollow platitudes. He'd far rather believe that someone was orchestrating the hell that his life had become than its being the natural order of things. If it really was the order of things, then a malaise lay across the whole of Federation society, and there was nothing worth believing in or fighting for.

Then again, just because he wanted something to be true didn't make it so.

But...

Roughsedge's words from the café played in his head. What if they hadn't been a threat? What if they'd been a promise, because Roughsedge knew ahead of time what the outcome of the tribunal was going to be?

Julian sighed.

"Julian? You awake?"

"Captain?" Julian propped himself up on one elbow and looked over towards the other bed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you."

"You didn't. I just noticed that you were too quiet to be properly asleep."

"Sir?"

"No restless tossing and turning. No deep breathing. And then you sighed."

"Oh."

"So I figured something was keeping you awake. What is it?"

"I might ask you the same question."

"I asked first."

Julian tried to marshal his thoughts. Then, finally, he said, "There are too many things going on, and I was wondering whether they might be connected."

"How do you mean?"

"I expected to have a difficult time, if my genetic status ever became public knowledge."

"I realise that."

"So I didn't question all the things I've had to deal with."

"Go on."

"But there seem to be too many things. Plus, something Roughsedge said, when we were in the café..." Julian lapsed into silence.

After a few seconds, Sisko prompted him. "What did she say?"

"She said, 'When the medical community decides it doesn't want you, we'll be waiting'. At the time, I assumed she was being...deliberately provocative. But she said, 'When...' not 'if'. What if she knew something? What if she already knew what the MSB's decision was going to be?"

"Isn't that a bit far-fetched?"

"Is it?"

"You don't think so."

"I don't know! And, no matter how hard I try, I can't see how everything fits together. So, maybe there is no conspiracy. Maybe I'm just being..."

"Paranoid," said Sisko, coincidentally using the word Julian had come up with earlier.

They lapsed into silence.

Just when Julian thought that Sisko had given up on the conversation and had gone to sleep, Sisko said, "Just because you can't connect everything together doesn't mean that there isn't a conspiracy."

"Captain?"

"Maybe some things are connected and some aren't. The trick is to figure out which are which." Sisko sat up and propped himself against the headboard.

Julian, encouraged by the captain's engagement with the topic, followed suit.

"Now, don't take this the wrong way... It's not a criticism. But, if there is one thing I've learned about you in the time I've known you, it's that you tend to think in absolutes. Black, white. Right, wrong. All, nothing. Your analytical skills are second to none but, move away from the scientific method, from the quantifiable? You struggle with nuances, with the more qualitative aspects of our world."

Julian considered Sisko's words. Then he said, "You are not the first person to make that observation, Captain." He'd thought he'd come a long way since his time at Starfleet Academy and Professor Hessayon's Medical Law and Ethics course, but maybe he was wrong. Even now, he often struggled with social situations and interactions. He'd often envied Jadzia's grace and the ease with which O'Brien mingled with new people.

"You've made the link between the MSB and Commander Roughsedge," said Sisko. "So where haven't you managed to make any links?"

Julian felt his brow furrow. "I can't see how the JAG and the MSB are connected. If there had been a link, Admiral Bennett wouldn't have made the deal with my father, at least not in the form it took. Intelligence wants me in the service but out of medicine. Bennett's deal tried to enable me to stay in both, although that didn't exactly work out as planned, did it? And who killed my mother? I can't see how anyone stood to gain from that." Julian's speech began to speed up. "Then there are the rioters, the protestors, Sergeant Garland, Uncle Lionel and the governor of my father's prison—"

Sisko held up a hand, preventing Julian from continuing with his list. "I get the picture. Lots of people have been playing havoc with your life recently."

Julian couldn't bring himself to bring forth the miserable, "Yes," that got stuck in his mouth. Instead, he made do with a tiny nod.

"It seems to me that, hidden in amongst all the noise, there are three groups that we need to look at more closely."

"Three?"

"First, the MSB and Starfleet Intelligence. Second, there's the JAG. You're right. I can't quite put my finger on it, but there's something...off...about the deal. It wasn't..."

"Cut and dried?" suggested Julian.

"Exactly," said Sisko. "But why not? Then there's your mother. That's the third one. Somebody must have gained from her death. But who? And why kill her now? Why not six months ago? A year? Why now?"

"Oh..." breathed Julian. "Oh, my God..."

"What?"

"Uncle Lionel... He said that my parents had decided to reconnect with their families now that they had no reason to hide any more. Uncle Lionel was delighted when Father got in touch with him. But Mother's family... I haven't heard anything from them. Mother didn't mention having contacted them to me, but Lionel was definitely under the impression that she had, or that she was going to. And Sergeant Garland told me how often victims and murderers are related." Now he thought about it, it seemed so obvious. A family member... Someone related to his mother... How hadn't he seen the possibilities before?

But who? And why?

"Do you know anything about your mother's family?"

Julian shook his head. "No. Neither of my parents talked about their families when I was growing up." He shrugged. "I never really questioned it. When you're a child, you don't. Whatever you have is normal. Normal for me was only having my parents. I just assumed that there wasn't anyone else, which is why I was so shocked when Uncle Lionel turned up. Besides, if I ever met any of them before I was...you know... Well. I have no memory of them."

"We need to find out more. First thing in the morning, I'm going to get on to Admiral Bennett, and you can get started on that genealogical research. There must be records somewhere." Sisko crawled back under the bed covers and rolled over onto his side, signalling that, as far as he was concerned, the conversation was over.

But Julian couldn't resist saying one last thing. "Thank you, Captain. For taking this seriously."

"You're welcome. Now, try to get some sleep."

-=o=-

Julian felt as though he was getting nowhere fast. The computer wasn't helping him. As much as he might have wished otherwise, it couldn't produce information out of nothing, and nothing was exactly what he knew about his mother's family. Before he'd started, he had barely even known her maiden name, and that had turned out to be so common that it was next to impossible to use it to narrow down the possibilities.

He rubbed a hand frustratedly over his face and raked his hair with his fingers. Why hadn't he asked his mother about her family when he'd had the chance?

Julian sighed. The only reason he knew that Amsha had had any family was because Lionel had mentioned it.

Lionel...

It was a long shot, but maybe there was another way to approach this. If what he'd said was true, Lionel and Julian's father had been close at one time, so maybe Uncle Lionel knew something about Amsha's side of the family.

Julian turned back to the computer and began researching his father's side of the family, wanting to find out whether Lionel could possibly be who he'd claimed.

This time, Julian had more luck. He sucked on his lips thoughtfully and nodded to himself. Lionel seemed to check out and Julian had a new avenue of investigation to follow.

Had Lionel and Richard ever been close enough for Lionel to know something about the woman his brother had married? Julian decided that it couldn't hurt to ask, and Uncle Lionel had left contact details.

-=o=-

After a day and a half of futilely leaving messages for Rear Admiral Bennett, Sisko decided to change his approach, and he resorted to loitering in the vestibule of the JAG building. On his third attempt, he spotted his quarry as the admiral headed out at lunchtime.

Sisko jogged to catch up with Bennett. "Admiral," he said, as he drew level, and slowed to match Bennett's pace.

Bennett threw a glance in Sisko's direction and carried on walking.

Sisko tried again. "You're a hard man to get a hold of, Admiral," said Sisko.

"And you're a remarkably persistent one," answered Bennett coolly.

Sisko smiled a small smile that failed to reach his eyes. "You did get my messages, then? You knew I've been trying to get in touch? I was beginning to wonder."

Bennett slowed, and glanced across at Sisko. "What, exactly, do you want, Captain?"

"I want answers." They came to a complete stop and the two men found themselves turning to face one another, blocking the footpath. Several passersby stepped around them.

"Answers?" said Bennett.

"Yes. You struck a deal with Richard Bashir to enable Julian Bashir to keep his commission. I was too relieved at the time to realise that you agreed to the deal too quickly. The whole thing was too...easy. And, as it turns out, the deal wasn't worth the proverbial paper it was written on. Then again, did you actually record anything? Was anything ever properly signed, sealed and agreed? Or did you just settle everything with a nod, a wink and a handshake?"

Bennett's eyes raked over Sisko's face. Sisko wondered what he was seeing there. "Your point, Captain?"

"I want to know why."

"Why, what?"

"To begin with, I thought you'd been genuinely sloppy. But the more you dodged my calls, and the more I found out about you... You weren't sloppy at all. You knew exactly what you were doing when you left all the i's undotted and the t's uncrossed. And I want to know why!" Sisko leaned in towards Bennett and jabbed an accusing finger in his direction.

"You aren't going to let this rest, are you?" Bennett said resignedly.

Sisko straightened up to make best use of his full height and said, "Julian Bashir has been the victim of several assaults. He's been subject to tests the methods of which bordered on torture. My father's restaurant was vandalised in the anti-Augment riot in New Orleans and, on top of all this, despite your deal, Dr Bashir still lost his licence to practice medicine! So, no! I'm not going to let this rest!"

Bennett considered Sisko for a few moments. Then, having made a decision, he tapped his communicator and said, "Commander Magnusdottir."

"Magnusdottir, here," said a woman's voice, seconds later.

"Commander, I'm going to send someone to see you. I want you to explain Project Mendel to him."

"Sir?" She sounded shocked.

"It's all right," said Bennett placatingly. "I believe Captain Sisko has the best interests of our...subject...at heart."


	20. Chapter 20

**CHAPTER TWENTY**

Once upon a time, England had been the hub of the Great British Empire. But that had been a long time ago. Centuries had passed since the time when the sun hadn't set on Britain's imperial territories. Over time Britain's military and industrial might had waned. Then the island nation had broken up, with Scotland and Wales seeking independence. Finally, England had been left alone.

England had, over time, slid into genteel obscurity, and was now known chiefly as a holiday destination for those interested in ancient monuments and for a few prestigious universities.

The population had fallen over time, too, partly as a result of the country's decline and partly because of the more general human diaspora, which had reduced the global population from its peak of fifteen billion to its current five billion.

These days, England was truly the "green and pleasant land" that Julian sometimes sang about when he and O'Brien got drunk, and the "dark satanic mills" of the same hymn were a dim, mostly forgotten, memory.

Lionel Bashir's home lay on the outskirts of Swindon, a small city in the southern half of the country. The modern house was modest in size: a couple of storeys high, surrounded by a small garden. It reminded Julian of the homes he and his parents had lived in when he was growing up.

Julian shrugged off the memories and walked up the garden path. He rang the door chime and waited.

He could hear voices from inside the house, then footsteps. Then, finally, the door opened to reveal Lionel, who grinned warmly in welcome. He held his arms out, offering Julian a hug. "Julian! You made it! Come inside and let me introduce you to the rest of the mob!"

Julian stood, stiff and uncomfortable. "I...I didn't realise that there would be anyone else here."

When Julian didn't fall into his embrace, Lionel stepped forward, grabbed Julian's arm, and said, "Don't worry. They won't bite! Come on. They're all very excited about meeting you."

Julian wished he could say the same. Instead, he felt nervous and more than a little intimidated. He couldn't quite come to terms with the idea of going from next to no family to being introduced to a "mob".

But... He couldn't back out now. Not only would it be rude, but he also wouldn't get the information he'd come for.

He allowed himself to be dragged into the hall. "We're all out back," said Lionel. "This way."

Lionel led Julian through the ground floor of the house, which was dominated by an open-plan room that had been divided into living and dining areas. Julian caught a glimpse of a food preparation zone with high-end replicators but no oven or hob. Again, he was reminded of his childhood.

"Out back" was a small garden that had been landscaped with grass, patio slabs and bright flowers. The space was crowded with enough people to make Julian grind to a halt.

"It's all right," said Lionel.

"Who are they all?" asked Julian nervously.

"My wife, our two kids. My sister and her husband, and their youngest. My parents of course—"

"My grandparents?"

"Yes." Lionel furrowed his brow. "That surprises you?"

"I don't know... I mean, I didn't even know their names until I looked you up, and now they're here. It's all a bit..."

"Much?"

Julian nodded. "Please try to understand. My parents didn't talk about family when I was growing up. I think they must have thought we'd be safer that way."

"Safer..." said Lionel, shaking his head thoughtfully. "I suppose I can just about understand their thinking. Well, actually, no. I don't think I do. We were—are—family, and family is the most important thing there is. They turned their back on us, rather than trusting us to help."

For a moment, Julian was reminded of Garak, and the role of family in Cardassian culture. He'd never really considered that humans could feel equally strongly. He blinked as he absorbed the idea that maybe his personal experience wasn't typical and that he was the odd one out in this regard, not—as he had long thought—those people who held tight to their family ties. Suddenly the Siskos' relationships made more sense, as did O'Brien's relationships with Keiko and the kids. For a moment, the vision of what family might be like danced enticingly in front of Julian's mind's eye. But then doubts and fears crowded in.

"But—" he said, before managing to curtail the rest of the thought.

"But, what?" asked Lionel, looking concerned.

Julian tried to be dispassionate and accepting as he said, "I'm not the person I used to be. Genetically, I mean. What if...they don't see me as family?"

"They do. We do. Otherwise none of us would be here. Why would you even think like that?"

"According to the law, I'm not related to any of you. It doesn't even recognise me as being my parents' child."

Lionel gaped at him. "What do you mean?"

Julian explained about Garland and the ruling that, genetically, he was so far removed from his parents that he was no longer related to them. As he wasn't theirs genetically, the only other way to be their legal offspring would have been through adoption, but how would his parents have ever been able to explain a request to adopt their own son?

"I think," said Lionel, "I know a quote that fits this situation perfectly. Now, what is it...?" He held a finger in the air, struck a pose, and said, "Ah, yes. 'The law is an ass!' Don't you worry, young Julian. We're simple folk here. You came out of that woman's body, so you're family, whatever the law says."

"Thank you," whispered Julian, and he meant it, from the bottom of his genetically enhanced heart.

-=o=-

If Sisko had not been told otherwise, he would have thought that he had been shown into an unused office. Only the nameplate on the door, which read "Commander Magret Magnusdottir", hinted at occupation.

Magnusdottir had done nothing to personalise her space. There were no pictures, holos, plants or knick-knacks, and all the surfaces were clear of clutter. She'd left nothing, not even a stray PADD or mug, lying around. Sisko appreciated tidiness and order, but he found the anonymity disturbing.

He wandered over to the window, and he found himself looking out across the bay. The sun was making the water sparkle, and the hills on the far shore were blue with haze.

The doors swished open and admitted a tall, slender woman. She had piercing grey eyes and hair so blonde that it was almost white. Like her office, she was all clean lines, with no unnecessary adornment.

"Hello," she said, striding across the room, her hand outstretched. "I'm Commander Magnusdottir, and you must be Captain Sisko."

Sisko nodded, exchanged pleasantries, and shook her hand. Her skin was warm and dry, her grip firm.

"Please. Take a seat. Can I get you anything...? Tea? Coffee?" Then, without giving him time to consider his answer, she continued, "No? Right, then. Let's get down to business."

She spoke quickly, her manner teetering on a knife-edge between professional efficiency and brusqueness. Something about her made Sisko want to lean back in his chair, lace his fingers behind his head, and dust off his best southern drawl. With difficulty, he resisted the temptation. Instead, he leaned forward and said, "Admiral Bennett told me that I should talk to you, but he wasn't clear as to why."

"I head up the Triple-P Unit, and report directly to the admiral," said Magnusdottir, as though that was supposed to mean something to him.

"Triple-P?"

"Public Perception and Prognostication."

Sisko still wasn't any the wiser, so he asked, feigning a lot more patience than he felt, "Which means what, exactly?"

"It's our job to anticipate the results of any changes to the law. We look at the ramifications of changes to legislation, be they political or legal. In this case, we've been looking at the possibility of declaring an amnesty for the genetically enhanced."

"What?" gasped Sisko, genuinely shocked. He didn't know what he'd expected, but it certainly wasn't that!

"As the case of your CMO illustrates," said Magnusdottir, "it is not impossible for a genetically enhanced individual to live as a normal person. Indeed, it may be more than 'not impossible'. It may be all too probable. We don't know is how many genetically enhanced individuals are out there, although, on the basis of what we know from places like Adigeon Prime, there could be tens of thousands of such people across the Federation."

"That's..."

"Frightening? Terrifying? An exploitable security risk? Or merely very, very sad?"

"I was going to say, a serious civil rights issue."

"That, too," agreed Magnusdottir, nodding. "The current laws mostly date from the Eugenics Wars, from a time when interstellar space flight was in its infancy. The possibility of people going off-world for treatment was remote at best. However, now there are a number of non-aligned worlds where...services...can be obtained. We don't know for sure how many genetically enhanced individuals there are living under the radar, so to speak, but we are aware that the number is growing."

Sisko nodded to show that he was listening.

Magnusdottir continued. "Attitudes towards the problem in political and legal circles vary. Some people see the idea of genetically enhanced people living in hiding as a major security risk. Others, like you, see it as a civil rights issue. What we needed was a way to test the waters of opinion. So we planned...and waited. It was only a matter of time before someone slipped up and was discovered."

Sisko managed to hold back his pedantic correction that it had been Julian's parents who had slipped up, not Julian, himself. Instead, he said, "So, when Dr Bashir's genetic status became public knowledge...?"

"Rear Admiral Bennett made the deal with Richard Bashir, who was given a remarkably lenient prison sentence. Amsha Bashir escaped prison entirely, and Julian Bashir was allowed to retain his commission. And we sat back, waited, and watched to see what the public's reaction would be."

"That's why Bennett insisted on all that publicity!"

"Of course."

"So, Dr Bashir was an experiment?" The outrage Sisko felt on Julian's behalf seeped into his words, lacing them with vitriol. "You _are_ aware that he's been attacked...insulted...assaulted?"

"That's...unfortunate."

"Unfortunate! It was the JAG's insistence that Bashir's genetic status be publicised that stirred up the crackpots!"

Magnusdottir raised her eyebrows. "Crackpots, Captain?"

"Aren't they? What else do you call demonstrators who throw bricks through windows, daub walls with insults, and persecute a man because he's different!"

"They've gone a bit far," said Magnusdottir. "But, as I've explained to you, the Triple-Ps needed to know how far things would go."

"You used him!"

"Yes," she said.

"I hope the results have been worth everything you've put him through!"

"Without our little experiment—without Project Mendel—he would have been cashiered from the service. Given how many laws he's broken, he's got off lightly. He should be grateful!"

Magnusdottir's defensive words punctured Sisko's anger, leaving him feeling deflated. "He _was _grateful, at least to begin with. Pathetically so, in my opinion," said Sisko. "What are your conclusions, anyway?"

Magnusdottir sighed. "You have to ask?"

"Not really. My father's restaurant was vandalised by anti-Augment protestors. And Julian has been threatened and attacked several times."

"Society isn't ready to embrace a change in the law. Yet. But give it a few decades. Maybe then." She paused, then she said, "There is one other thing, Captain... Your reaction, and the reactions of Bashir's colleagues, to his genetic enhancements... They are also results of which we'll take note."

Sisko stared.

"Not everyone, you see, is unsympathetic to the plight of the genetically enhanced."

-=o=-

Gradually, as Lionel pointed out, described and introduced people, Julian managed to piece together the Bashir family. Besides Lionel and his wife, and Lionel's parents, Julian found he had an aunt by blood and two cousins who, between them, had five children.

Julian was introduced to the children as a long lost uncle. "Uncle" was an inexact description of his relationship to them, but Lionel assured him it was as much about showing him respect as it was about saving on explanations and confusion. "The children have a lot of uncles," he said.

The children were as curious about their new-found relation as he was about them, especially after they discovered that he was in Starfleet. Thus, after everyone had eaten their fill from a replicated buffet, the children dragged Julian off and peppered him with questions.

"Have you seen lots of aliens?" asked Bernadette. She was fifteen; her brother Michael was only a year older. Their cousins, Stephen, Janet and Marian were aged nine, seven and five respectively.

"Yes."

"What's the ugliest alien you've ever seen?" That was Stephen.

"Ugly is a harsh word," said Julian. "I don't find Antedeans particularly attractive, but they seem to like each other. They certainly don't think they're ugly."

As the children fired questions at him from all sides, he was strongly reminded of Lauren, Jack and Patrick. He'd thought their relentless questioning was some kind of mutant thing, but now he thought it was more basic than that. Perhaps it was a human group-mentality thing. Now, as then, he found himself challenged, but he enjoyed parrying the questions nonetheless.

"What about Ferengi?" asked Michael.

"What about them?"

"Haven't they got really big ears and heads that look like butts?"

"Ye-es," said Julian. "But I know some nice Ferengi."

"Nice enough to date?" asked Bernadette.

"Probably not," admitted Julian. "Although my ex-girlfriend dumped me for one."

"You're making that up!" Bernadette said accusingly.

"No," said Julian. "I swear, I'm not! Her name is Leeta. She's Bajoran. And he's called Rom. Leeta says Rom is cute."

"What about the Jem'Hadar?" asked Michael.

"Aren't they, like, monsters?" asked Stephen.

"What gave you that idea?"

"Well, haven't they got big scaly heads and little horns or tusks or something growing out through their skin?"

"Yes."

"Have you seen a Jem'Hadar?" asked Janet.

"Yes."

"More than one?" asked Stephen.

"Yes. And Vorta. And several Founders."

"Is it true that the Jem'Hadar and the Vorta are freaks?" asked Stephen.

"Freaks?" said Julian carefully.

"He means 'unnatural'," said Bernadette. "You know. Genetically engineered."

Julian felt as much as heard the silence that suddenly descended on the garden. All adult eyes were on him. His cheeks burned. He picked his words carefully. "The Founders genetically engineered both the Vorta and the Jem'Hadar. That makes them different to most species, and I suppose that they are unnatural in so far as they couldn't be created in nature. Neither species can reproduce sexually. The Jem'Hadar only have one gender, although the Vorta have two. The Jem'Hadar are created in birthing chambers, and the Vorta are cloned."

"Uncle Julian, what does 'reproduce sexually' mean?" This question, from Janet, made the older, wiser children snigger.

"Ask your parents, when you get home," said Julian.

"And, while you're at it," said Uncle Lionel, who'd suddenly joined them, "ask your parents why it's not nice to call people 'freaks'. Now, kids, I think you've monopolised Julian for quite long enough. Great Grandpa and Great Grandma want to talk to him."

The collective cries of "Aww" and "Do they have to?" only ended when Stephen wondered whether there was any cake left, and the children set off en masse to find out.

"I'm sorry about that," said Uncle Lionel. "Freaks! Honestly!"

"It's all right," said Julian. "I've heard worse."

Uncle Lionel looked at Julian and said, "Yeah, well. I'm sorry about that, too."

-=o=-

"So, you're little Jules, all grown up," said Grandmother. "I wouldn't have recognised you. You were always small for your age, and now you're so...tall. And handsome."

"You certainly have changed," said Grandfather.

Julian stood his ground, forcing himself to withstand their scrutiny, no matter how uncomfortable it made him feel.

"Of course he's changed, Dad," said Lionel. "He's twenty-five years older!"

Julian wondered whether Lionel or Julian's grandparents understood the full extent of the changes he'd undergone. Age was only a tiny factor. But he kept quiet. He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

"Come. Sit next to me," said Grandmother. She smiled. "I remember bouncing you on my knee when you were just a tiny thing. I'd sing to you, and you'd try to join in. But you could never quite remember the words, so you'd just hum. Such a happy sound."

Something inside Julian stirred. A memory. Or perhaps it was an echo of a memory. There was something familiar about the picture she painted with her words. Maybe he had known these people before. Maybe he could claim kinship with them.

"And you'd smile and laugh," Grandmother continued. "And that would make me smile and laugh, too."

He didn't recognise his childhood in her description, and he felt the earlier memory echo die away. Most of what he remembered from...before...was confusion and loneliness and sadness and an odd feeling that he wasn't what his parents wanted. It felt wrong to think that someone might once have considered him a happy child.

Grandmother's expression sobered. A pall of remembered sorrow fell over her. "Then, one day, you were all gone. There was no note. No message. No explanation. There was just a gap where you used to be."

Julian wondered how it must have felt, having a hole in their lives where Richard, Amsha and he should have been. He knew how his own mother-shaped hole felt, but at least he knew what had happened to her. How had their gaps felt, with the unanswered—and unanswerable—questions? Missing, and after seven years, presumed dead, but always with that element of doubt...

And now, here he was again, older, changed, and a stranger who knew even less about them than they knew about him.

"We looked for you. We reported you missing. Your neighbours said that your parents had mentioned going off-world, but your names weren't on any passenger lists anywhere."

As Julian listened to his grandmother's story, he tried to figure out how his parents had managed to pull off their disappearing act. They must have had help. It wasn't in character for his father to have done anything so meticulously or successfully. Richard Bashir was a dreamer. He had grand ideas, but he wasn't much for planning details, and Julian's mother had always followed her husband's lead.

Julian had never quite grasped the dynamic of their relationship. He'd always thought that Amsha was the cleverer of the two, and he'd never understood how she could bear to subordinate herself to his father.

"If you had gone off-world," continued Grandmother, "you must have either used assumed names or travelled privately. And there was no record of you ever arriving on any Federation world..." She trailed off into remembered confusion.

"My parents took me to Adigeon Prime. It's not a member of the Federation."

"How long were you there for?" asked Grandfather.

"Several months. First there were the treatments and then..." Julian shrugged. "There were a lot of things I needed to learn to do, to catch up, before we came back to Earth."

"You did come back, then?"

"Yes. Briefly. We spent some time in Manchester. Then we went to Canada. We went off-world again for a while. We moved around a lot because Dad never settled at anything."

Grandmother sniffed fondly. "That sounds like Richard. Both my sons were dreamers. The difference between them is that Lionel managed to channel all his dreaming into something constructive and make a career out of it."

"He told me he writes holoprogrammes," said Julian.

"Yes," said Grandfather. "He's very good at it, or so I'm told. He's won awards." Julian could tell he was proud of Lionel.

Had Grandfather ever been proud of Richard?

Had Richard ever done anything to make him proud?

-=o=-

Dusk came and went, and the party dispersed. Finally, only Uncle Lionel, Lionel's wife and Julian's grandparents remained. They led Julian back into the house, switched on the soft lights in the living area, and pulled out the wedding holos.

Julian felt odd, watching images of his parents from when they were younger than he was now.

The Bashirs took him through their own side of the family first, the side that they knew most about and in which they were most interested. They chuckled over the fashions and pointed themselves out before squinting and frowning, trying to remember who everyone else was.

There was Great Uncle Basil, God rest his soul, who had died in a most unfortunate accident involving a horse, a donkey and a bucket of grit. He'd been an eccentric soul, who had taken up unicycling in his nineties.

There was his Great Aunt Maud, Basil's widow. She was still alive, but had never really got over the accident. She was living out the remainder of her life in a retirement community somewhere in the Bahamas. "We invited her along today, but she says she gets transporter sick," said Lionel.

"Nonsense. She just didn't want to miss her canasta," said Grandfather, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "She's pretty set in her ways these days."

There were some second cousins and third cousins and some once removeds, and Julian found himself reeling from the revelation that he might have come from somewhere other than the collective imaginations of his parents and the Adigeon Prime doctors. He found himself eagerly sopping up all the information he was given and asking for more.

Finally, the talk turned to Amsha's side of the family, and the original reason for Julian's curiosity.

The Bashirs' smiles and laughter died away. "Snooty bunch," said Grandfather. "They always gave the impression that they were better than they were, and that Richard wasn't good enough for their precious Amsha."

"It was all nonsense, of course," said Grandmother. "Any status they had was all in their imagination. Back in the days when wealth gave people status, and having a business actually meant something, they might have been pretty hot stuff, but that was all a very long time ago. By the time your parents got married, all they had left of their business empire was a name and a lot of bitterness."

"They'd have loved to go back to the old ways. Most people—humans—like the way things are now. Society provides for us all and everyone contributes to the best of their ability. But the Fahids... They wouldn't mind being back on top of the heap, grinding down the little people."

Julian raised his eyebrows. He found it hard to believe that humans like that still existed, at least on Earth. It sounded more like the kind of philosophy that would have appealed to Quark on a bad day.

They moved on.

"That's Amsha's father, Jamil. And that's his..." Grandfather frowned. "Third?"

Grandmother nodded. "Anita."

"Third wife, Anita."

"She looks a lot younger than him," observed Julian.

Both grandparents nodded. "She was. Amsha's mother is also there, somewhere. Towards the back, I think, from what I can remember. She and Jamil spent a lot of time avoiding each other, and Anita refused to have her sit at the top table with the rest of the family. Anita said that was her place as Jamil's wife. Petra gave in. Petra said she'd do anything to keep the peace and make sure that Jamil and Anita didn't ruin Amsha's day. Families, eh?"

Julian didn't answer. He didn't feel that he had enough of a frame of reference to be able to make any meaningful comment.

More to distract himself than for any other reason, he pointed at a solemn-faced youth, who looked as though he'd put on his older brother's suit for a dare. "Who's that?"

Grandfather frowned, trying to remember. "That's Anita's child, isn't it? Sam, or Samuel, or something."

"Samil," said Grandmother. "I remember him. He was most put out when I got his name wrong, and he corrected me. Quite forcefully, too. He was an odd child. I think he was a bit of a misfit. He acted as though he was an adult trapped in a child's body. I guess that's what comes of being by far the youngest in a family, or spending all that time with grown-ups."

Julian felt for Samil. He'd been a misfit, too, and partly for the same reason. He'd spent most of his formative years in the company of adults—usually his parents—and he'd related poorly to his peers.

"Was he the one that followed Amsha everywhere and who made a scene when he was told he had to sit with the other children at the reception?" asked Lionel.

"You remember that?" asked Grandmother, sounding surprised.

"It'd be hard to forget. I remember thinking that he was a brat. And then he looked like he was going to cry when Amsha and Richard left."

"Poor mite," said grandmother. "Amsha was more of a mother to him that Anita ever was. I felt sorry for him."

"What happened to him?" asked Julian.

"No idea," said Grandfather. "I guess he grew up. He probably has kids of his own by now."

"We never had that much to do with your mother's family," said Grandmother, "and after you all disappeared... Well. We all stopped communicating after a while. Aside from wondering what had happened to you, we really didn't have anything in common."

-=o=-

Sisko needed time to himself before he went home. He needed time to think, to calm down, and to recover from his conversation with Magnusdottir.

He was keyed up with frustration and indignation, and the energy had to bleed away somewhere. So he walked.

Sisko and Julian's parents had accepted Bennett's deal at face value, and it had been presented to Julian as a _fait accompli_. At the time, the deal had seemed like a perfect, almost magical, solution to Julian's predicament, but it hadn't worked out that way. Instead, it had led to consequences that nobody could have predicted...nobody, except maybe Julian, himself.

Everything that had happened subsequently had lived down to Julian's worst fears and expectations, fears and expectations that Sisko would have once considered groundless...unduly pessimistic...far-fetched.

Maybe the Triple-Ps had had good intentions, but Sisko had witnessed the damage that their meddling had done. Couldn't they have contained the situation somehow? Shouldn't they have had more consideration for the subject of their experiment?

They might argue that the ends justified the means, but Sisko had watched as Julian had bent further and further under the pressures of the last few weeks, and nothing could justify that!

Sisko picked up speed, his pace accelerated by the righteous anger he felt. He walked across the Starfleet campus, then off the grounds, and before he knew it, he was striding along the footpath that ran along the shore.

Until Julian had been outed, Sisko thought humanity was better than this. He had thought humans had grown past hating someone simply because of a label, of what they were.

In the distance, Sisko could see Alcatraz rising out of the water. Now a historic monument, there had once been a prison on the island. It had been a place where criminals had been locked safely away from human society. It was a place of nightmares, the kind of place that Sisko now knew had haunted Julian's dreams.

Sisko remembered something Julian had said to him once, when they'd been trapped in the past. He'd wondered about it at the time but, once back in their own century, he'd forgotten to pursue it. Julian had said something about how hating people was understandable, but doing nothing because of apathy was hard to understand. At the time, Sisko had wondered what Julian knew, let alone understood, about hate.

Julian had obviously known a lot about self-hatred and the potential hatred of others. Now he had direct experience of both.

Even though Sisko had come to understand something of what motivated Julian, he found it hard to understand how Julian could be so idealistic, so compassionate.

Julian—or what he was—was an object of hate. Julian had lived with that knowledge for years. Julian even sympathised with the haters.

The reality of his life was unpalatable, yet Julian had still managed to believe in something more. Something better. Something...wholesome. He strove so hard to be the best person he could be. His natural compassion was compounded by a desire to prove to himself and all the haters that they were wrong about what he was and a desire to make up for what had been done to him.

Sisko knew the haters—including Julian himself—were wrong about Julian because he knew Julian.

If only people would see Julian the way he did, stop their persecution and leave Julian alone, so that he could come to believe in himself!

The wind was blowing in from across the bay. Times like this, Sisko wished he'd kept his hair. He could see a bank of fog rolling in, too, and feel the air temperature dropping as it came closer. The fog might suit his mood, but he was sensible enough to realise that it was time to turn back. Sisko began to retrace his steps.

Julian Bashir was a very moral person. He saw the world in blacks and whites, and he struggled with shades of grey. It was one of the things that had made him a good doctor: all patients needed to be treated with equal compassion and care, irrespective of their species, allegiance or creed. It was also a character trait that had, on early acquaintance, made Sisko think of him as naïve and uncomprehending of the evil in the universe.

Blacks, whites. Rights, wrongs.

Sisko paused to note how the sparkling blue water of the Golden Gate was shifting to a sullen grey as the light changed.

Sisko could see now that Julian's worldview made his struggles with his genetic status gruelling. Genetic enhancement was illegal. Therefore it was wrong. What his parents had done to him was wrong. _He_ was wrong.

Lying was wrong, but Julian had had no choice but to lie. But, in Julian's eyes at least, that had compounded the wrongness about him, and fuelled the confused resentment he'd felt towards his parents and the position they'd put him in.

Julian had hidden his secret well, until he'd been outed and his self-loathing had spilled out.

_Unnatural... Freak... Monster..._

_Abomination._

Then he'd been tempted to give up on himself without a fight, because he wasn't someone—something—worth fighting for.

Except, thought Sisko angrily, he was!

Sisko's heart ached for Julian. So many of the things Julian had had to do to survive ran counter to his essential nature, the core of his being, the bit of Jules Bashir that lived on inside him. The bit of him that Julian had believed had been murdered to let Julian live in its place.

Sisko sighed. The wind bit his cheeks, ears and fingers, and he decided to abuse his rank. He tapped his communicator, and asked to be beamed home.

-=o=-

By the time Sisko got back to New Orleans, the first of the evening's diners were tucking into their main courses. Sisko paused on his way upstairs to watch Julian. There was a bounce in his step as he served and cleared, and a smile twitched his lips as he took orders. This was the Julian of old, the one Sisko hadn't missed until now, when he compared him with the quiet, sombre man Sisko had become used to over the last couple of months.

Sisko had put at least some of Julian's calming down to his increasing maturity, but seeing Julian now made him realise that it had been more than that. This evening's Julian was happy, and it cheered Sisko to see it.

Sisko began to smile, but then his smile faded all too soon as he realised that he would probably be responsible for bringing Julian back down to earth.

-=o=-

Julian was still smiling several hours later, when he sat down with Sisko and Joseph for their late-night coffee.

Sisko said, "You've been very cheerful this evening. I take it you had a good day."

"I did," said Julian. "Lionel had invited lots of people to meet me: cousins; aunts; even my grandparents." His eyes were alight with delighted amazement. "I...I have family. They were really nice, and they made me feel welcome. Can you believe that? The adults made me an honorary uncle, because they said it was less confusing to the children that way, and all the other cousins are honorary uncles and aunts and—"

"Whoa! Slow down, Julian!"

Julian ducked his head as he chuckled wryly. "Sorry."

"No need to apologise," said Sisko. "I'd just forgotten how much and how fast you can talk." His amusement took the sting out of his words.

Julian looked up again and he made an effort to speak more slowly and calmly. His smile faded slightly and he sounded shyly unsure as he said, "They told me... They said it was where I came from that was important, not how I was manipulated later." Julian looked at Sisko and Joseph, seeking confirmation that what the other Bashirs had told him could be true.

Sisko nodded, and he saw Joseph do the same, and Julian's smile reignited. Then he sobered slightly and said, "They told me about my mother's family, too. They didn't like them very much."

"Oh?" asked Sisko blandly.

Julian summarised what he'd been told. Then he said, "I'm not sure how any of it will help, but it was interesting, and it feels...good...to know something about where I come from."

Now was Sisko's opportunity to turn the conversation to his own part of their investigations. He took a long drink of coffee, and he took no comfort in what he was about to do. He put his mug down and sighed. Then, after a palpable pause, he said, "I finally tracked Admiral Bennett down today. And I found something out."

"Oh?" said Julian in his turn.

Sisko sighed again. "I found out why the deal Bennett made with your father was so full of holes."

"Oh," said Julian flatly and, as Sisko talked, the twinkle that had so recently been rekindled in his eyes sputtered and died away.

-=o=-

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

So, there you have it. Lionel is exactly who he said he was, and you now know what Project Mendel is / was.

I'm going on holiday in a few days, so I won't be around to post anything next Saturday. Normal service should be resumed on 5 September. (I would apologise for the interruption but, to be honest, I'm so happy to be going on my travels that it'd be very hypocritical of me if I did!)

Meanwhile, thank you, as always, for your reviews, follows, favourites and interest. (It's lovely to check my email and to find that someone has left a new review, or someone new has decided to follow or favourite. :) )

**Next time:** Julian gets transfer orders.


	21. Chapter 21

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

Hello, everyone.

(The holiday was terrific. Thank you to everyone who sent good wishes for safe and pleasant travels. I've been home for less than twenty-four hours, but the trip is already taking on something of a dreamlike quality. While we were away, it felt as though the holiday was lasting for ages, but now it feels as though everything happened in a flash. Thank heavens for my journal and about 1,500 photographs that I need to sort through!)

I'll hopefully be able to stick to the usual routine of posting once a week from now on.

Thank you, as ever, for reading, reviewing, following and favouriting.

Now...back to the story!

-=o=-

**Chapter Twenty-one**

Julian looked up from his chopping as Sisko walked into the kitchen. "A message has just arrived for you," Sisko said. "It's from Starfleet, stamped high priority and confidential."

"Thank you," said Julian. Sisko could tell that Julian wasn't particularly happy about the news. Then again, the last confidential message he'd received had been the first step towards his losing his licence, so perhaps the lack of enthusiasm wasn't surprising. Julian was probably worried about what this latest correspondence might lead to.

Sisko watched as Julian left the dining room, going in search of Joseph's comms system. Then he picked up the knife that Julian had just put down and started where Julian had left off. Sisko smiled ruefully, reflecting that, despite all his years of practice and experience, he wouldn't do the job half as well.

Ten minutes, and a mountain of carrots, later, Sisko realised that Julian hadn't come back. He put the knife in the sink, rinsed and dried his hands, and then went to search for him.

Sisko found Julian sitting in front of the communications terminal, staring blankly at the black, empty screen.

"Julian?"

Julian didn't answer. He didn't even give any indication that he'd heard.

Sisko called his name again and put his hand on Julian's shoulder.

Julian leapt to his feet, throwing Sisko's hand off. He jumped away and spun into a defensive crouch. He stared wide-eyed and uncomprehending at Sisko, who found himself staring back.

Sisko waited until understanding, quickly followed by embarrassment, reached Julian's eyes. Then he said, "I didn't mean to startle you."

"I'm sorry," said Julian, sitting down again. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"What's happened?"

"I..." Julian frowned. He shook his head, trying to clear it.

"What did Starfleet want?"

"Transfer orders. The message says I have to report to Starfleet Academy in three weeks for retraining, and that I'm being transferred to Intelligence."

Sisko didn't know why he was surprised. He shouldn't have been. He'd known that Fischer was interested in Julian, but he'd never really taken that interest seriously. Why not? Because, given that Julian hadn't heard anything before now, Sisko had supposed—hoped—that Fischer and his staff had changed their minds? Or was it because he'd thought that the idea was too preposterous to be entertained, in the first place?

After the way Intelligence had treated Julian, the idea that he transfer into that Service didn't sit well with Sisko. From Julian's reaction, Sisko gathered that the idea didn't sit well with him, either.

"I replied," said Julian. "I said that I wanted to refuse the transfer, and I pointed out that my appeal to the MSB is still pending. Also, until the police find Mother's killers, I can't leave Earth."

Sisko nodded. "And?"

"I haven't heard back yet."

Sisko eyed Julian. There was more at play here than a simple desire to turn the transfer down. Julian's startled reaction had been disproportionate, and Sisko wondered why. He frowned. "Something else is bothering you?"

"No," said Julian, but he sounded doubtful.

"You sure?"

"No," said Julian. "I feel... This feels... I don't know. Everything about it feels wrong."

"Maybe that's because it is wrong."

"Maybe," agreed Julian.

Sisko looked at him. Julian was calmer now, and Sisko decided that a change of scenery might be just what he needed. "I think Dad could do with some help downstairs. What do you say?"

With the smallest of smiles, Julian answered, "I say, let's go."

-=o=-

"New customer," said Julian quietly, as he carried two bowls of jambalaya through from the kitchen.

"Thanks," said Joseph, who turned around to meet and greet.

Julian served the couple at table five, noticing how they looked into each other's eyes and touched each other's hands across the table, letting go only long enough for him to put the food down. New love, he thought. Would anyone ever look at him that way? Would anyone ever love him the way he was? Would he ever be able to fully believe anyone who claimed that they did?

He shook the questions away and distracted himself by watching Joseph at work.

Joseph treated his newest customer to a wide smile and a warm welcome. Not for the first time, Julian admired the way Joseph dealt with strangers. He wished some of Joseph's ease would rub off on him.

"Table for one, if you have one, please," she said. The sound of her voice caught Julian's attention and he looked at her more carefully. Deep voice, early fifties...

His heart sank. He'd heard her speak once before, in a three-dimensional FNS broadcast, although she'd been out of sight for most of it. He'd seen her then, too, and he'd seen her again, since. She'd been in the public gallery at his disciplinary tribunal. He put a name to her face and voice: Elizabeth Lilienfeld. She was a journalist.

Maybe it was just a coincidence that she'd come to the restaurant now. After all, Sisko's had a continental reputation. There were plenty of reasons for her to be here, other than because of him. But he couldn't think of any, especially since Sisko had mentioned that a journalist been in touch with Jake.

Julian moved to stand in the shadows and let his eyes track her as Joseph, using expansive gestures, guided her out onto the patio, where he offered her the choice of two bistro tables.

Lilienfeld chose one in a corner. With her back from the wall, she had a commanding view over most of the restaurant as well as into the kitchen. It was the table Julian would have chosen, too.

Joseph flitted around, getting her a menu and then a drink, and Julian got back to work, busying himself with clearing tables and carrying dishes to and from the kitchen.

Julian was stacking plates in the washer when, fifteen minutes later, Joseph said, "That woman at table eleven? She's watching you."

"I know," said Julian. "I've been trying to ignore her."

"Do you know who she is?"

Julian gave an almost infinitesimal nod. "Her name's Elizabeth Lilienfeld."

"You know her?"

"No. But I recognise her. She's the journalist who interviewed Shiva Ghazi."

"Oh." Joseph's eyes widened in understanding. "Any idea what she wants?"

Julian shook his head. "Not really, other than I'm guessing she's here because of me."

Joseph considered Julian. Then he said, "Do you want to go? Things are quietening down, and we can manage without you, if you want to avoid her."

The offer tempted Julian, but he said, "No. I'll stay. If I go, she'll only try again some other time. Besides, I don't want to give her the satisfaction of thinking she's chased me off."

Joseph flashed a grin at Julian, patted his arm, and said, "Attaboy!"

-=o=-

As Julian reached to clear Lilienfeld's dessert plate, she snagged his wrist. He froze, then slowly turned his head to look at her.

"You're Julian Bashir, aren't you?"

He wanted to lie, but there was no point, just as there was no point to the question, when she already knew the answer. "Yes," he said curtly. Then, more politely, he asked, "Would you like tea or coffee?"

"Coffee, please," she said.

She released her hold on his arm, and Julian turned away to complete his tasks.

In the kitchen, as Sisko made the coffee and Julian gathered together cup, saucer, spoon, milk and sweeteners, Julian said, "She knows who I am."

"That surprises you?" asked Sisko idly.

"No. She talked to me."

"What did she say?"

"Nothing. Not yet."

Sisko focussed more attention on Julian. "Do you want me to take the coffee out?"

"No. I'll do it. But..."

Sisko picked up on Julian's incomplete thought. "It's okay. We'll keep an eye out for you."

Julian felt tension in his shoulders that he hadn't been aware of lessen. He flashed a quick smile. "Thank you, Captain."

Sisko nodded an acknowledgement.

Julian carried the coffee tray out to table eleven and unloaded its contents.

"Have you got a minute?" Lilienfeld asked.

Julian didn't answer. Instead, he simply looked at her.

"Your watchdogs are bristling," she said.

"My what?"

"The Siskos. The chef, whatever his name is."

"Nathan," said Julian automatically.

"They're all watching me, like they're worried I'm about to eat you alive. They're quite protective, aren't they?"

"Are they?" asked Julian. He knew they were, and he was grateful. They'd looked after him, and now they were looking out for him.

"It took me a while to recognise you, even after watching you at the disciplinary tribunal," Lilienfeld said. "You're not what I expected."

Julian crossed his arms and said, "What did you expect?"

Lilienfeld shrugged, untouched by, or oblivious to, his attitude. Julian wasn't sure which. "Not this. Not you waiting tables. It just seems incongruous, somehow."

Now it was Julian's turn to shrug. "I'm just helping out."

"But that's my point. You're chipping in, doing your bit. Doesn't quite fit with the image of the mighty Augment, does it?"

Julian couldn't help it. He flinched. He moved to leave.

"You don't like being called an Augment, do you?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"It has...connotations."

"So, what would you prefer? Nip? Unnatural?" When he didn't answer, she pressed further. "What would you rather be called?"

"Human," said Julian, although he supposed that "mutant" might also be acceptable, at a pinch. He tried to move away again.

"I'm sorry," said Lilienfeld quickly. "I didn't mean to offend you."

"I'm not offended," lied Julian. "I'd just rather not have this conversation."

"What would you prefer to talk about, then?"

"Why would I want to talk about anything, especially with you?"

"Good question," said Lilienfeld. "All right, how about this: Shiva Ghazi is a bastard. I'm predisposed to like you, simply because he doesn't."

Despite himself, Julian found himself wanting to laugh.

Lilienfeld picked up on the shift in his mood. "Please..." she said. "Sit down."

Julian perched himself uneasily on the edge of the seat next to hers.

"I wanted to do a profile on Ghazi. I sold it to his people as a puff piece about the great Ghazi dynasty. He's the third generation of his family to serve in public office and, if his son hadn't died, there'd have been a fourth."

"What happened to the son?" asked Julian. Why was he even asking? What did it matter to him? Then he realised that his questions were a distraction, and it was easier talking about other people's lives than about his own.

"Apparently he took an overdose. The coroner said that it was an accident." She shrugged doubtfully.

"You don't think so?"

"I don't know. At the time, there were rumours of suicide, but that didn't make much sense, either. Nobody ever traced the physician who had prescribed his medication, and he had no history of depression. In the end, I think the coroner returned the verdict of accidental death because he could find no definite evidence to the contrary and because it was kinder to the family."

"What did he overdose on? Do you know?"

"Not off the top of my head. Why do you want to know?"

"Professional curiosity, I suppose." Julian looked away, suddenly fascinated by the stonework in the wall. "Old habits die hard, even if I'm not a doctor any more."

Lilienfeld nodded. Then she said, "His son-in-law now looks to be the favoured heir apparent. We made a deal: I got to do the profile so long as I also did that broadcast interview."

Julian slowly turned his head back towards her and asked, "What has this to do with me?"

"Maybe nothing. But I'm one of those namby-pamby liberals that Ghazi detests so much, and I feel at least partly responsible for what's happened to you. Plus, you're a big story in your own right, and I was curious. If I can get you on record, put your point of view across..."

"You're here because you want a story," said Julian flatly.

"Yes," said Lilienfeld. "But this would be so much more than a story. It might undo some of the damage we've done."

"I don't know," said Julian. "Maybe I just want to be left in peace." He stood up again.

The skin around Lilienfeld's eyes crinkled with humour, taking some of the sting out of what she said next. "Oh? And how's that working out for you?"

He could have walked off, but he stayed rooted to the spot. He didn't bother answering, letting her draw her own conclusions from his silence.

Lilienfeld read his indecision, then she said, "You know Shiva Ghazi has been using you."

Julian waited, hoping that his expression gave away nothing of his reaction.

"He's been using you to raise his own profile. He's been having his holo taken with the protestors and criticising the tolerant stance Starfleet has taken with regard to your continued employment."

Julian couldn't help himself. He snorted derisively.

"What? What did I say?"

Julian shook his head. "Starfleet doesn't seem all that tolerant from where I'm standing."

"Oh?" Lilienfeld said blandly.

Julian tried to gather his thoughts. Then he said, "According to the law, I'm unemployable. But Starfleet offered me an alternative, and a continued career in medicine. Only, that's not how things have turned out. Now the only thing Starfleet is offering me is a transfer into Intelligence. I tell myself that I should be grateful, that that's better than nothing. But I don't feel grateful. I feel..." He shook his head.

Now that he tried to find the words, he couldn't explain the jumble of confusion and repugnance he felt. He sighed. "I don't know why I'm telling you this." And then he forced himself to shut up.

Lilienfeld considered him. "Please..." She gestured to the chair he'd recently vacated.

Slowly, Julian sat down again, his eyes on her face all the while.

Lilienfeld reverted to a previous topic. "I don't like Shiva Ghazi's politics, and I don't want to see him get away with this. And, just so you know, if you think Ghazi is bad, his successor will be even worse. At least Ghazi has some principles, no matter how misguided I think they are. Samil Fahid just believes in expediency and personal ambition."

"Fahid...?" whispered Julian, shocked into wide-eyed immobility.

"You know the name," said Lilienfeld.

Julian nodded nervously, a twitchy and reluctant agreement. Thoughts rushed through his mind. Fahid was a common enough name. It could be a coincidence. But he found himself calculating the odds...and he knew that the chances of this Fahid being unrelated to him were minimal.

He was making connections.

"Is everything all right?"

Sisko's voice snapped Julian out of his stupor, and he realised that Sisko must have been alerted by Julian's expression. Julian forced himself to nod. Then he looked up at Sisko and said, "Samil Fahid works for Shiva Ghazi."

It took Sisko a moment to process the words, then his eyes widened and his jaw dropped. "He had motive."

Julian nodded.

"What?" demanded Lilienfeld, picking up on the import of the information she'd unwittingly imparted, if not the reason for it.

Julian and Sisko exchanged glances, then Julian said, "Samil Fahid, if it's the same Samil Fahid, is my maternal uncle."

Now it was Lilienfeld's turn to let her jaw drop.

And then the three of them began to talk.

-=o=-

Sisko bolted upright in bed and wondered what had woken him up. Then he heard it: screams loud enough to curdle even the freshest blood.

Julian.

Sisko leapt out of his own bed and crossed over to Julian's. Julian was in the throes of a nightmare. Sisko shook him roughly. "Wake up! Wake up! You're dreaming!"

Julian thrashed, gasped, and then his eyes popped open. Julian's return to consciousness brought with it a heavy silence that pressed almost painfully against Sisko's ears.

"Captain?" asked Julian.

"You were having a nightmare."

Julian pulled himself into a sitting position, rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands, and then raked his fingers through his hair. "Oh. Sorry. Did I wake you?"

"Rather," said Sisko. "You probably woke the whole block."

"Sorry," said Julian again. He looked down at the sheets.

"What were you dreaming about?"

Julian shrugged. "The usual."

"Nightmares like that aren't usual," said Sisko.

"They are for me," said Julian. Then, thoughtfully, he added, "Mind you, the yellow people are relatively new."

Sisko raised his eyebrows. "Yellow people?"

"Yes. Faceless, androgynous and yellow. Not canary yellow; more yellow ochre. I think it's a side effect of the kenfitamol. Ever since I was overdosed, they've been in my dreams. They make cameos as Jem'Hadar, Vorta, doctors..."

Sisko stared at Julian. A doctor who had nightmares about other doctors? How...odd. Quietly and carefully, he said, "You have nightmares about...doctors?"

Although Julian made a point of not looking at Sisko, he nonetheless answered the question. "Adigeon Prime," he whispered.

Sisko closed his eyes against the revelation. "You have nightmares about the enhancement procedures." It wasn't a question so much as a nauseating realisation.

Julian nodded. "It was...terrifying and painful, and it wasn't until much later that I fully understood what had been done to me. And I was alone most of the time. Except for Kukalaka, of course."

"Kuka— Oh. The bear?"

Julian nodded again.

Six years old. Terrified. In a strange hospital, on a strange planet. And, at least to begin with, incapable of understanding what was happening and why anyone would want to hurt him. "Where were your parents while all this was going on?" Sisko asked.

"Around. Somewhere. I'm not sure."

Are you really as accepting or oblivious as you seem? Sisko wondered. Do you even know that they should have been with you? They should have helped you, comforted you, and not left you to learn how to scream yourself out of your nightmares on your own.

-=o=-

Sisko came downstairs the following morning to find Julian pacing, all gangly legs and flailing arms, a coil of barely restrained energy. Sisko had never before realised just how long Julian's limbs were in proportion with the rest of his body. Julian reminded him of a spider, moving to and fro, to and fro, weaving an invisible web.

Sisko doubted that Julian would find the analogy particularly flattering, so he suppressed his smile and kept his thoughts to himself. Sisko waited for a minute, but then he could contain his curiosity no longer. "What's going on?" he asked.

"I got a message back from Starfleet. From Admiral Fischer. He says that I can't refuse the transfer. Take a look."

Sisko raised his eyebrows, sat down, and read the message that Julian had left up on the screen. With every word, his eyebrows crawled higher. Finally, he finished reading, and he found himself staring. He had to force himself to tear his eyes away from the monitor.

"That's...outrageous," Sisko said. He turned to look at Julian and saw that his disbelieving anger had somehow comforted Julian, momentarily stilling his angry movement. "You must have some say in what happens to you, surely," said Sisko.

Julian shook his head and waved a hand in the general direction of the screen. "Not according to Admiral Fischer, I don't," he said bitterly.

"But...you must have rights."

"Must I? You know what the laws say." Julian began pacing again.

Sisko stood up and rubbed his right hand over his pate. "Not even Bennett or Magnusdottir could have intended this to happen!"

"Do you think they cared?" Julian snarled.

"They should care! This isn't fair!"

"When," said Julian, "has anything about this been fair? It's been rigged from the start. At least we know why, now."

Sisko blinked. "You think the transfer is why?"

"Don't you?"

Julian picked up speed, his fury growing ever closer to the surface until it finally erupted, and he roared, "I have had enough!"

Julian, angry, was a sight to behold. His rage was incandescent and magnificent, and Sisko felt himself grinning.

"Why are you smiling?" yelled Julian. "There is nothing to smile about!"

"Yes, there is. There is you. I've been so angry on your behalf. You should be furious! You have every right to be mad! You have no idea how frustrating it has been to see you let everyone trample over you, accepting it as your due. And now? It does my heart good to see you angry on your own behalf."

Julian stilled and stared at Sisko, his mouth open in shock. Then, in a small voice, he said, "Really?" as though he needed Sisko's permission.

"Yes! If you want to scream and rant and rave, go ahead. It'll do you good. You're allowed to be angry."

"I am?" Then, as he finally gave himself permission, he said more firmly, "I am allowed! And I am so angry!"

Sisko nodded approvingly and said, "So, what are we going to do?"

"We?" asked Julian, as though the idea that Sisko might have any concern for him had never crossed his mind, even after everything that they'd been through in the last few weeks.

"Yes. We," said Sisko impatiently. "I think you need to talk with Commander Magnusdottir. Not only can she shed some light on what they thought would happen, but she's also a lawyer, so she'll know the legal position better than either of us. Besides, I think she owes you, after everything you've been through." The idea firmed up in Sisko's mind as he talked. He nodded to himself. "I'll get in touch with her. Set a meeting up for you."

An almost-smile graced Julian's lips again as he gratefully said, "Thank you."

-=o=-

The next day found Julian sitting out on the fire escape again, his head tilted up to the sky. The early morning sun warmed his cheeks.

Over the last few years, he had become accustomed to life on Deep Space Nine, and he missed the clarity of the stars, the now familiar configuration of the Bajoran heavens, and the spectacle afforded by the opening and closing of the wormhole.

But he also liked being able to breathe the fresh air and the feel of wind on his face. Back on Earth, he'd rediscovered the pleasures to be found in environments that had evolved over millennia rather than the artificial construct of a space station that had been project managed by an alien, invading power over mere decades.

However, he hadn't come out here just to kill time until he needed to transport to San Francisco for the meeting Sisko had set up for him with Magnusdottir. He'd also come out here to think; after every thing that had happened the day before, he had a lot to think about.

For one thing, all the anger he had ever feared to feel had boiled over, and it hadn't been anything like he'd expected. He closed his eyes, allowed himself to remember, and he smiled.

The emotion had burned and filled him with pulsating energy. His anger had made him want to rant and to shout. He had wanted to punch and to kick things. It had made him swell with indignation at the unfairness of everything.

And Sisko had told him that it was all right for him to feel that way.

More than that, though, he hadn't lost control. There had been no homicidal fury within him. He wasn't frightened of his anger anymore. There was nothing to be frightened of.

Thus, even as he remembered the fire of his emotions, he felt a spark of joy. His fury had been liberating, and now he found himself feeling empowered in ways he'd never imagined. In anger lay strength. He hadn't expected that.

His thoughts drifted towards O'Brien, and his request that Julian fight for what he wanted. What he still wanted, more than anything, was to be a doctor, if that were at all possible. What he didn't want was to be forced to work for Intelligence. It wasn't just that intelligence work didn't appeal to him. There was something about the idea that made his skin crawl, that upset him on a visceral level that he couldn't explain. The idea nauseated him, and made his pulse race. His palms felt clammy.

What else did he want? What might he tell Magnusdottir, when he met her?

He wanted to be allowed to live in the world. He wanted to be able to come and go on his home planet without having to worry about what people might think about, or do to, him. He wanted the freedom of movement that other people took for granted.

For all that he was unsure about his relationship with the rest of humanity, he had roots here on Earth, and his being was tied more tightly to this planet than to anywhere else. Earth was in his psyche in a way nowhere else could ever be. He wanted to be allowed to live here. He didn't want to be turned away or rejected. Assuming that Garland ever bothered to find his mother's killer, he might leave, he might settle down somewhere else, but he wanted that to be his choice.

No matter what, he would always be from Earth. He had been born here, even if he had been altered somewhere else.

He blinked as he realised something for the first time. He'd been created on Adigeon Prime, but he felt no emotional attachment to that planet, only a nebulous, persistent resentment. He didn't belong there. He belonged on Earth, even if there were those who would never want him here. If he wasn't wholly human, that was because the doctors on Adigeon Prime, albeit at the behest of his parents, had robbed him of that possibility. However, he was still more human than he was anything else, and he ached to claim his birthright.

How much of this would he admit to Magnusdottir? How much of it was relevant? And would any of it do any good anyway?

He sighed, used the metalwork of the fire escape to pull himself to his feet, and muttered to himself, "Guess it's time to find out..."

-=o=-

"Come!"

The doors to Magnusdottir's office slid open, and Julian stepped through. He glanced around, quickly cataloguing details: light and airy; tidy; cream-coloured walls; beige carpet; a large ficus in one corner; a credenza on the far wall; desk with a built-in computer console in front of the window.

Magnusdottir looked him up and down, then walked around the desk, her hand extended in greeting. Julian moved forward to greet her.

As he shook her hand, he realised that he recognised her. She'd been in the public seating at the disciplinary tribunal, but that hadn't been the first time he'd seen her...

-=o=-

_There were the tiered seats of a large lecture theatre... Somewhere in Starfleet Academy. The Law Faculty. She was sitting three seats in from the side and five rows from the back._

_She stood out from all the cadets because she was dressed in the uniform of a commissioned officer. She wore a command red uniform that was adorned with the two pips of a full lieutenant._

-=o=-

"What can I do for you?" she asked.

Julian pushed the memory aside and said, "Captain Sisko thought you might be able to help me." He stopped short of reminding her of the actual conversation. Julian had watched, unseen, as Sisko had told Magnusdottir in no uncertain terms that, as she'd engineered things to make the current situation possible, she had a moral duty to help make things better. In the end, she'd agreed to meet with Julian. Reluctantly, to be sure, but she'd agreed.

Now she said, "What do you want?"

"I've received transfer orders. I'm being reassigned to Starfleet Intelligence."

"So?"

"I don't want to work in Intelligence, but Admiral Fischer has told me that I can't refuse the transfer. He says that I have no choice. Surely this wasn't the intended outcome of the deal Admiral Bennett struck with my father."

"Somehow I doubt you came here just to tell me that. So why are you here?"

"I want you to sort this out."

Magnusdottir's eyebrows lifted. "I beg your pardon?"

"You made this mess. Surely you can fix it," Julian said.

Magnusdottir considered her immaculate nails for a few seconds, then she said, "I wish things were that straightforward."

Julian felt his heart sinking. "They're not?"

Magnusdottir shook her head slightly and said, "No."

Of course they weren't, thought Julian. Nothing about his life was ever straightforward.

Magnusdottir considered Julian carefully, looking at him long enough to make him feel uncomfortable. He waited for her to continue, meanly hoping that his discomfort was mutual. Eventually she said, "What has happened to you has gone beyond anything we anticipated. We thought you would either be accepted with open arms or that there might have been a bit of controversy for a few days, but that would be all. We didn't realise how strongly anti-Augment sentiment ran, and we didn't consider the MSB." Magnusdottir sighed softly. "You'd better sit down."

When they were both seated, she said, "We didn't know what would happen."

That was no excuse, Julian thought, but then he remembered that Magnusdottir had shaken his hand, and he managed to contain the worst of his annoyance when he said, "But you wanted to find out, didn't you?"

"Yes." Then she sighed again. "That was the whole point of the exercise, as I'm sure Captain Sisko has already informed you."

Julian nodded and said, "Yes."

"If we hadn't left loose ends hanging, there would have been nothing for us to find out. If, in all that, we forgot that we were dealing with a person... Well. I'm sorry."

Julian said nothing to indicate one way or the other whether he accepted her apology. He supposed he understood what she was saying, but understanding and forgiveness were different things, and he wasn't ready to forgive yet. "You still haven't explained why things aren't straightforward," he said.

Magnusdottir seemed to consider her answer carefully. Then she said, "We made a deal. We didn't change the law. And now we have to try to reconcile the conflicts between the two."

"So, what am I supposed to do?" asked Julian.

"Take legal advice."

Julian found himself rising to his feet. His frustration manifested in an extravagant, jerky wave of his arms. "I thought that was what I was doing here!"

Magnusdottir shook her head. "You said you wanted me to sort this mess out. Not the same thing."

Julian stared at her. "But you're a lawyer, aren't you?"

"I trained as a lawyer, but I've never practiced."

"And that matters how?"

Magnusdottir's eyebrows rose and she said, "That's like me asking why someone who has learned anatomy doesn't pick up a scalpel and practice surgery."

Julian nodded, understanding. He sat down again and said, slightly helplessly, "I don't know any lawyers apart from you."

"What about Professor Hessayon?" asked Magnusdottir. "You know him."

Julian's eyes widened as he remembered the professor from his student days and, in that same instant, he realised exactly when and where he'd seen Magnusdottir for the very first time. "Do you think he'd do it?" he asked.

"I don't know, but we can ask. You'd be happy with him?"

Julian thought back to his dealings with the professor. He had no idea what Hessayon might think about his genetic background, but he was fairly sure that Hessayon would never let his personal beliefs get in the way of what the legal system required. Julian didn't know him well enough to trust him on a personal level, but he thought he could trust Hessayon's professional ethics. "Yes," he said.

Magnusdottir tapped her commlink and said, "Computer: connect me with Professor Hessayon's office."

The computer replied, "Connecting."

Then a different voice came out of the speakers. "Professor Hessayon's office. How may I help you?"

"Hello. This is Magret Magnusdottir, from the office of the Judge Advocate General. Is the professor available?"

"I'm sorry. He's teaching at the moment. He should be back in about ten minutes. I can get him to call you back when he returns, if that would suit?"

"Yes. Thank you. He can reach me through the JAG office. And, please, tell him it's quite urgent."

"Yes, ma'am."

In the lull that followed, Julian said, "I recognise you."

"Have we met?" asked Magnusdottir. She frowned.

"No. I'd remember that. But you sat in on in one of my Medical Law and Ethics classes." What had she been doing there? He remembered wondering that at the time, too, but the presence of strangers had been the least of his worries that day, and his curiosity hadn't lasted. "It was a required course in my final year of medical school. You sat in on one of the debates."

Magnusdottir smiled faintly. "I'm surprised you noticed me."

"Yes. Well." He ducked his head and felt his cheeks warm.

Magnusdottir nodded, more to herself than to him. "I see. You noticed me for the same reason you remembered me. You notice and remember everything."

"Not everything," said Julian. "Just...most things."

"I remember you, too. Though I have better reason to. You were, after all, one of the stars of that day's events."

Julian remembered that, too. Even without his eidetic memory, he'd have been hard-pressed to forget.

"You looked terrified."

"I was terrified. I wasn't very good at public speaking anyway, and the topic..."

"A bit too close to the bone, was it?"

"Yes."

"How come you got to take the 'pro' side of the argument, anyway? Did you volunteer?"

"Of course not! Nobody in his or her right mind would have volunteered for that! Professor Hessayon picked me."

-=o=-

_Julian felt wrung out. Exhausted. He'd lost the debate. He'd failed. Yet Professor Hessayon was smiling at him. "Congratulations, Cadet. You did an excellent job."_

_"But I lost," said Julian._

_"You valiantly fought a battle that you had no chance of winning. And you lost by a smaller margin that anyone would have ever anticipated."_

_Julian tilted his head to one side. "If this were medicine, my patient would have died."_

_"Ah, but this is law, and you have passed with flying colours."_

_If that were true, Julian thought, as he watched the professor wander off, how come he felt as though he'd failed?_

-=o=-

"It's ironic, really..." said Magnusdottir.

"What is?"

"Every year, the Law Faculty sends invitations out to the JAG for someone to attend the debates and, occasionally, in the name of good relations, someone from the JAG actually goes along. Of course, everyone thinks that they have far better things to do, so it's usually the most junior officers who have to go. I was an adjutant. My senior officer didn't want to go, so he sent me instead. What I heard... That's when I decided to join the Triple-Ps. We started Project Mendel soon after that."

Julian stared at her.

"So, you see, in a way, you kick-started the whole thing."

"You're saying, I'm to blame for everything that's happened to me?" said Julian, trying to keep the automatic bitterness and disbelief out of his voice.

"I'm not talking about blame at all. But, if you want to look at things in terms of positives and negatives, then consider this. Without the arguments you presented at the debate, there would never have been a project. Without the project, there would never have been a deal. You would have been summarily cashiered from the service, convicted, and, quite possibly, locked up. But, because of what you did back then, you have some hope now."

-=o=-

Professor Hessayon was smaller than Julian remembered, and thinner, and more stooped. His age was catching up with him. His hair was a cloud of white. Backlit by the sun, it shone like a halo.

"We've met before," Julian said, as he reached for Hessayon's outstretched hand. "You probably don't remember." Julian wasn't sure that was true. He sometimes found it hard to know what normal humans could be expected to remember. When he'd been a teenager, he'd tried reading up on memory, but he hadn't found any of the texts particularly helpful. There seemed to be a huge amount of variation between individuals, and he hadn't found anything to help him anticipate norms. All he'd learned for sure was that his eidetic memory was unusual, but even that wasn't beyond the limits of human ability.

Since then, through experience, he'd learned that underestimating people's capacity for memory usually worked in his favour. If they did remember him, they'd feel pleased with themselves, and, if they didn't, he would have saved them from embarrassment.

"Of course I remember you. Julian Bashir. Although, I didn't expect to ever see you again once you'd passed Medical Law and Ethics." Professor Hessayon's voice, which was young and vibrant, was at odds with his physical appearance.

Hessayon's office was the complete opposite of Magnusdottir's. There was clutter everywhere. Shelves lined two walls from floor to ceiling with antique paper books and teetering piles of PADDs. There were also PADDs strewn across his desk. "Student assignments," said Hessayon with a gesture. "Fortunately, I've graded most of them. Unfortunately, I'll be seeing a lot of these students in my resit class." He dropped the small talk abruptly and asked, "Now, what can I do for you?"

Julian explained as dispassionately as he could, and he could see Hessayon's interest piquing as he listened. More than that, the years seemed to fall away from him as his brain engaged with the problem. His back straightened, and his eyes focussed.

When Julian was finished, Hessayon stood up and wandered over to his replicator. He didn't ask what Julian wanted to drink. He simply ordered two coffees, then put one of mugs down in front of Julian. "Replicator's broken," said Hessayon. "It's coffee or nothing, I'm afraid."

"Coffee's fine," said Julian, and he felt grateful for all the practice he'd had with the drink while he'd been in New Orleans. "Thank you."

This coffee was watery and barely lukewarm, and weak enough that Julian was able to drink it without any milk or sweetener. He watched as Hessayon glugged his down like a thirsty man presented with a canteen of water. Julian copied him, and managed to suppress a grimace as he swallowed the dregs from the bottom of his mug.

The drink might have been foul, but Julian was grateful for the way Hessayon had unthinkingly offered it to him.

Hessayon said, "Why don't you want to work in Intelligence?"

Julian wasn't sure how to answer. Wasn't it enough that he didn't want to? Did there have to be a reason?

Hessayon prompted him. "Is your objection based on a matter of principle, or is it an aversion to that transfer, specifically?"

"Well...both," said Julian. "I don't want to work in Intelligence, specifically. But that makes me object to the principle, more generally." Julian paused, then said, "I probably wouldn't have fought a transfer to Science."

Hessayon nodded thoughtfully. "What, exactly, is it about Intelligence you object to?"

Julian ducked his head, suddenly finding his fingers fascinating.

Hessayon correctly interpreted Julian's silence as a reluctance to explain, and he said, "Whatever you tell me here goes no further than these four walls. Client confidentiality and all that."

Julian looked up. "Are you sure about that?"

"Absolutely. You have my solemn word."

Julian nodded to himself, then he said, "The people. The culture of the Service."

"Can you explain?"

Julian avoided looking at Hessayon's face as he said, "I expect to be treated differently to other people. But the behaviour of the Intelligence officers is different from the usual prejudices."

"How so?"

Julian thought for a moment, then he said, "They say one thing and do another. They say they want to recruit me but, up until now, they've treated me as though I'm an enemy. I don't know where I stand with them. And I...I don't trust them."

"They acted as though you are the enemy? How so?"

"Maybe 'enemy' is too strong a word. But they've certainly treated me as though I'm under suspicion. These last few weeks, any time I was at Starfleet Medical, Security personnel have tracked and reported on my movements. At least, I thought—I assumed—they were Security. Now I know that at least some of them were Intelligence officers, _pretending_ to be Security."

"Really," said Hessayon, and Julian thought he sounded sceptical.

Julian looked Hessayon squarely in the eye, determined to be believed. "They weren't very subtle about it. And I could hear them making the reports. And then there was the incident in the holosuite and Commander Roughsedge's comments at my disciplinary tribunal...although, with hindsight, those could be taken in one of two ways."

Hessayon held up a hand. "Slow down. Let's take this one step at a time." Then he said, "Tell me about Starfleet Medical. How, specifically, do you know you were being watched?"

Julian told Hessayon about being met by a security—or had he been Intelligence?—officer on his first day there, about all the officers lining the corridors of the twelfth floor, and of how he had heard them making reports whenever he moved around the building.

Then, at Hessayon's prompting, Julian spoke about how Roughsedge and her cronies had turned up at the café where he, Sisko and Loews had had lunch on the day of his disciplinary tribunal. "They must have followed us there," he said. "They ate, but didn't leave. Instead, they watched us. And then, when we were heading for the door, Roughsedge waylaid me and said, 'When the medical community decides it doesn't want you, we'll be waiting'."

"You thought she was making a threat?"

"I...I don't know. At the time, I thought she was being deliberately provocative."

"And now?"

"It might have been...a promise. Like she knew ahead of time what was going to happen."

"All right," said Hessayon. "Now tell me about the holosuite and, while you're at it, tell me how you found out that they were Intelligence officers."

So Julian did.

When Julian was done, Hessayon stared sombrely at him. "You're telling me that Starfleet Intelligence officers lured you to a Starfleet facility under false pretences, escorted you at phaser point into a turbolift, drugged you, then left you to wake up in a facsimile of a Dominion prison camp?"

"Yes."

"And then this Commander Roughsedge overdosed you with kenfitamol?"

"Yes."

"And you were rescued by Captain Sisko and Dr Loews?"

"Yes," said Julian, "although I don't really remember that part."

Hessayon stared at him. Julian felt a need to convince Hessayon about the truth of what he said. Earnestly, with just a hint of desperation, he said, "I know it sounds far-fetched. But ask the captain or Dr Loews, if you don't believe me. And the hospital must have my admission records."

Hessayon nodded. "I'll look into it." Then, maybe he read something in Julian's expression, because he said, "It's not that I don't believe you, young man. Rather, it's that your word on its own isn't enough. We need corroboration."

"Oh," said Julian. He settled back in his chair, relieved that Hessayon was apparently taking him seriously.

"More coffee?" said Hessayon, getting up.

"No. Thank you."

"Don't blame you," said Hessayon, but he got himself another one, anyway. He sat down again, put the mug on his desk, and proceeded to ignore it. Julian gathered that he'd used getting the coffee to buy himself thinking time, rather than because he'd wanted another drink.

"I can see why you don't want the transfer. The question is, how do we prevent it?"

Julian's heart leapt at hearing Hessayon's "we".

"Now. You say that you tried to decline the transfer order...?"

"Yes, sir. I was told that I couldn't refuse."

"I'd like to see a copy of that communication, if I may?"

Julian nodded. "I'll forward it to you."

"If your following normal Starfleet procedures hasn't worked, then I fear we will have to try something more formal. There is a problem, though..."

"Only one?" asked Julian wryly.

"One immediate problem."

"Which is?"

"Your status. You are aware, I assume, that your genetic status prevents you from filing any legal claim or petition on your own behalf?"

"You're suggesting that I need to go through formal legal channels, if I want any of this resolved. But you're telling me that I can't, that the law forbids me from filing a petition?" Julian was suddenly on his feet, pacing in what little space there was, his arms and hands punctuating his words. "Am I the only one who sees the..._absurdity_...of that?" He stopped and turned to look across the desk at Hessayon. Julian's chin jutted out pugnaciously.

"There are ways around it," said Hessayon.

"What ways?"

Hessayon gestured towards the visitor's chair with his right hand. Julian sighed and sat down again.

"You need to find someone who will file the petition on your behalf. Ideally, that would be your Advocate, but—"

"My Advocate?" said Julian.

"—given your rather unusual circumstances, I'm assuming you don't have one."

"But, I do," said Julian. "At least, I'm fairly certain that I do." Julian quickly told Hessayon about Sisko, and how Sisko had unwittingly taken on the role.

At the end of Julian's explanation, Hessayon nodded thoughtfully. Then he said, "That would certainly make things easier, if he'll help."

Julian looked at Hessayon and frowned. Hessayon must have guessed at least something of what Julian was thinking, because he said, "According to the law, your Advocate's role is to act in what he sees as your best interests. If your Advocate doesn't agree with you as to what your best interests are, the Advocate's opinions will take precedence."

Julian felt his teeth clench.

"I didn't say I agree," said Hessayon, raising his hands to forestall any possible protest. "The system is subject to abuse, and there aren't adequate safeguards to protect vulnerable individuals from the actions of their Advocates."

Was that what he was? A vulnerable individual? That made him sound weak and feeble. Irritated, Julian said, "If I'm a vulnerable individual, it is only because the law has made me into one!"

To Julian's surprise, Hessayon smiled. "I agree. So let's add that to our list of things we might want to challenge." He ran the stylus over his PADD. Then he said, "Do you think Captain Sisko will act on your behalf?"

"I...I think so. I'd have to ask him, to make sure."

"You do that. Assuming that he says yes, then I'll want to talk to you both. Meanwhile, I'll look into the case to see what ideas I can come up with."

"So, you'll help?"

"Oh, yes. I think so. It's an interesting case, and, at my age, there are few new challenges anymore. This will be quite fascinating."

-=o=-

"Captain?" asked Julian.

Sisko glanced up from the stew he was tasting. He nodded to himself, satisfied with the seasoning, put the lid back on top of the pot, then added the dirty spoon to the pile of washing up. "Yes?" he said.

"May I have a word?"

Julian looked sombre and anxious, and Sisko wondered what had gone wrong this time. He nodded. "Let's sit down."

They sat at one of the bistro tables, and Julian said, "I...I need your help. If you'll give it to me."

"Of course I'll help, if I can."

"It's a big ask," Julian said.

"Tell me."

Julian swallowed, and Sisko added upset to his list of Julian's emotions. Julian quickly outlined what had happened in his meetings with Magnusdottir and Hessayon, and ended with, "But Professor Hessayon says I can't file a petition on my own behalf."

"What!" exclaimed Sisko. "Why not?"

"Because, as the law stands, I—" Julian broke off. He stood up and sat down again. Then he took a deep breath and, struggling to sound calm, he said, "According to the law, I'm mentally incompetent to do it."

"Oh, for—" Sisko bit back his frustration. Being angry wouldn't help Julian, at least not here and now.

"I need you to do it for me. As my Advocate. If you will."

Sisko looked at Julian; Julian looked back. Sisko wondered how difficult it must be to have to ask for something that should have been a basic right. How did that make Julian feel? Demeaned? Embarrassed? Frustrated? Indignant?

Sisko's response came easily and with righteous passion. "Of course I'll help."

Sisko saw the rigidity leave Julian's body, and the grim set of Julian's mouth gave way to a relieved and grateful smile. "Thank you, Captain. In that case, Professor Hessayon wants to meet with us—both of us—to discuss what we need to do next.


	22. Chapter 22

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Well, life is settling back into a more normal routine, now that the trip is well and truly over. (I've started daydreaming about the next one, and I have made a list of possible places that I'd like to visit! Of course, what I should have been doing was knitting, writing, working...)

Thank you—as always—for your interest in this story, and for your support. As usual, I want to say a particular thank you to the reviewers, favouriters and followers.

-=o=-

**Chapter Twenty-two**

Hessayon passed around the coffee mugs, seated himself behind his desk and said, "Thank you both for coming."

"No problem," said Sisko.

Sisko was sitting on the chair that Julian had used on his previous visit, while Julian was standing. Hessayon had offered to find another chair, but Hessayon's office felt cramped with three people in it in addition to all his clutter and other paraphernalia, and Julian had calculated that he would fit in more comfortably if he remained upright. Besides, he didn't want to be a bother.

"So, Captain, you're Lieutenant Bashir's Advocate."

Sisko inclined his head, smiled faintly, and said, "Apparently so."

Julian noticed that, having taken a first sip of his coffee, Sisko was avoiding drinking any more and was nursing his mug, careful not to spill its contents. Julian's own mug was perched on a shelf. He'd gulped down the lukewarm liquid in one go, too polite to abandon it.

"And you're here to discuss the possibility of your filing a petition on his behalf?"

"No," said Sisko.

"No?" said Hessayon.

"I'm here because I want to file a petition on Julian's behalf. The only discussion I want to have is about the best way to do that."

Hessayon looked at Sisko with more interest. A smile played about his lips as he said, "You support the petition, then?" He looked at Sisko over the brim of his mug as he drank.

"One hundred per cent."

"All right." Hessayon put the mug down. "On the basis of my previous conversation with the lieutenant—"

"Julian, please," said Julian.

"Julian?" queried Hessayon.

"It's my name...and being called Lieutenant only serves to remind me that I'm not Dr Bashir any longer."

Hessayon considered that for a moment, then he nodded. "Julian, then. However, in court, it'll sound better if we refer to you by rank. It'll be a constant reminder of your achievements."

Julian said, "All right, then," as though what he thought might actually make a difference.

"As I was saying, _Julian_," said Hessayon, pausing to smile briefly, "as a starting point, I've got down that we want to challenge the transfer and, if we can find a way to do it, the Advocacy arrangement. However, I have to warn you, we are dealing with two different things here, and we'll need to tackle them in different ways."

"How so?" asked Sisko.

"We can challenge the transfer using the existing legal framework. That's the easy bit."

"That's easy?" muttered Julian wryly.

Hessayon heard him. "Legally speaking, yes. The process is straightforward, even if getting the answer we want might not be."

"Oh."

"Challenging the Advocacy arrangement, however... That's something else. We would need to change the law, and that means getting a Bill passed through the Federation parliament."

"Oh," said Julian again, his gloomy resignation obvious.

"I think our priority here is to get the question of your transfer orders sorted out. Then, if you want to fight the rest, we'll talk about ways and means of doing that. All right?"

Julian and Sisko nodded, but Julian had to admit that he was disappointed that they couldn't use the courts to tackle anything more than the transfer. Then again, he wasn't sure that he was ready to take on a bigger fight than that. Not yet, and maybe not ever.

"The next thing we need to decide is who we want to petition against, as well as whether we want the case heard in the civilian or the military courts," said Hessayon.

"Does it make a difference?" asked Sisko.

"In the eyes of the law, perhaps not. However, the civilian courts get more publicity and—arguably—carry more weight, at least here on Earth. Further out in the Federation, the JAG officers often use their delegated powers. Here, however, there is still a perceived distinction between the two. In your case, I think both perception and reality should work in our favour."

"Oh?" said Julian, while Sisko said, "How so?"

"The civilian courts have far looser ties to the military than does the JAG office. If there are conflicts of interests between the different branches of Starfleet, then going to the civilian courts will help us to circumvent them. You're more likely to get an impartial ruling."

Julian nodded, although he wondered how likely "more likely" actually was.

"Also, as I said, there is the question of who we should petition against. The obvious choice at this point is Starfleet Intelligence, maybe even Admiral Fischer by name. That, however, will depend on what, exactly, we decide to petition for. And we need to think about how we are going to present our case."

Julian said, "Don't we just say that I don't want the transfer?"

A ghost of a smile played around Hessayon's mouth. "That's a starting point, yes. But we need to explain why you don't want the transfer. For that we need a good argument. And evidence."

"I see," said Julian quietly.

Sisko asked, "What kind of evidence?"

"Well, for starters, anything relating to your time in that holosuite. I wonder whether Roughsedge made a recording of the programme. I think... Yes. I think I'll try submitting a request to produce for any and all recordings, logs and transcripts relating to the incident. Then, of course, there are your medical records relating to the treatment you received afterwards."

They batted ideas around for a while but, eventually, they ran out of new suggestions and the discussion began to wind down.

Just when the meeting appeared to be drawing towards its natural end, Hessayon said, "There is one other thing that I need to ask you: how far are you prepared to take this? Because the case could get nasty."

"Nastier than demonstrators with placards?" Sisko asked, and Julian could tell that Hessayon had irritated Sisko with his question. "Worse than being pelted with eggs? Spat at? Chased? Insulted? Assaulted?"

"Captain..." protested Julian weakly.

Sisko ignored him. Instead, he looked at Hessayon, and Julian could see the exact moment when Sisko realised that Hessayon didn't know how absurd his question had been.

Sisko leaned forward and spoke angrily, only now his anger was no longer directed at Hessayon but either at Julian for not having said anything before or at the world more generally. Julian wasn't sure which. Sisko pointed his thumb in Julian's direction and said, "Has he told you about how his quarters were vandalised on Deep Space Nine? About the graffiti in New Orleans? About getting death threats? Or how all his most personal information has been aired in public? How he's been treated like a—"

"Captain!" snapped Julian.

Sisko halted abruptly.

Hessayon looked from Sisko to Julian and back again. Then he focussed on Julian and said, "Is all that true?"

Put on the spot, Julian had no choice but to nod and say, "Yes."

Hessayon's gaze bored into Julian and Sisko in turn, and he said intensely, "I need to know about all of this. In detail."

Julian felt discomfort spread out from the core of his being. "Why?" he said tightly.

"Because it may help. Because it may be relevant."

Julian swallowed noisily. He felt as though he was trying to shove a marble down his gullet. "I don't see how," he said tightly. "It doesn't have anything to do with the transfer." Julian hated the whine that had crept into his voice. He knew he sounded like a petulant child.

"Maybe this isn't just about the transfer," said Hessayon. "Why is this so difficult for you to talk about, anyway?"

"Because... Because it's embarrassing." Julian wrapped his arms around himself and he stared down at the piles of papers just in front of his feet.

"But—" Sisko threw up his arms in dismay.

"Go on, Captain," said Hessayon. "Tell us what you're thinking."

Sisko turned to Julian, who avoided his gaze. "You've nothing to be embarrassed about. This is about how you're being treated, and it's not right! Starfleet Intelligence is only able to do what it's doing because of the general climate. The attitudes we have towards the genetically enhanced make it possible. You accept society's attitudes. Even now, after everything that's happened, I think you still believe they're right, and that's why you feel awkward and embarrassed. You want to challenge a single symptom, not the cause! Stop acting like a victim!"

Julian's head jolted upwards. He turned and stared at Sisko, shocked and hurt.

Sisko sighed. "I don't mean to be harsh. But you deserve better. You need to accept that, believe it and move forward!"

"I am trying, sir," said Julian, "but it's difficult." There was that wretched whine again.

"I know you are, and I know it is," said Sisko. "And I know that you've got a lifetime of conditioning to overcome, and that can't be easy. But you need to _try harder_."

Julian looked down at his feet again.

"Captain Sisko has a point," said Hessayon. "Tackling the transfer order in isolation... Maybe that isn't enough. If we can challenge the context of Starfleet's behaviour...maybe argue institutional prejudice... If the law doesn't see you as human, then what are you? If the law considers you to be something different, like a race apart, perhaps we could challenge Starfleet using the existing equalities legislation..." He massaged his chin with the fingertips of his right hand.

Hessayon stood up and turned to look out of the window. When he started talking again, Julian wasn't sure whether Hessayon was talking to them or to himself. "In that case, we'd have to petition against Starfleet as a whole, not just one service. Yes...yes. Maybe that would work better..." Hessayon turned around to face them again.

Julian felt alarmed. This was far more than he'd expected. All he'd wanted was to quietly resolve his problem. He wasn't ready to contemplate the rest.

His alarm must have been obvious because Hessayon held up his hands and sought to reassure him. "I'm not saying this is what we will do. I'm saying this is one approach we might take. I'm simply exploring possibilities here."

Julian nodded, only slightly mollified.

"There may be other options," said Hessayon.

Julian hoped that he was right, because everything he'd learned up until this point told him that what Hessayon was proposing was impossible.

"All right. Let's refine what it is that we're asking for." Hessayon looked up and spoke directly to Julian. "We have to be realistic. You're not going to be given equal status with the rest of humanity. So we need to figure out what we can get for you. What do you need most?"

"I need to be able to say 'no' to Starfleet Intelligence."

"He needs to be protected from actions that don't take his welfare into account. Transferring him to Intelligence... It's unfair, and judging by the actions of Intelligence's officers to date, it'd be downright dangerous."

Julian wouldn't have put it quite like that, but he couldn't argue with what Sisko had said, so he nodded his agreement.

"Right then. Leave it with me, I'll see what I can come up with, and I'll be in touch."

-=o=-

Sisko had a meeting scheduled for two o'clock, and he therefore planned to kill time in San Francisco until then. Thus, Julian said his good-byes, murmuring something about how, if he hurried, he could get back to New Orleans in time to help with the post-lunch clear-up, and hurried into the corridor.

Sisko was following at a more leisurely pace when he felt Hessayon's hand on his forearm. "A quiet word, if I may, Captain?" said Hessayon.

Sisko saw the falter in Julian's steps. He sighed as he watched Julian recover and continue.

Sisko waited while Julian stepped into a turbolift and the doors shut behind him. Then Sisko turned and said, "I hope you have a good reason for excluding him. He heard you, and he'll be worrying about whatever it was you didn't want to say in front of him, and why."

Now it was Hessayon's turn to sigh. "And that's part of what I want to talk to you about. Perhaps you would care to join me for lunch?"

"All right," said Sisko, curious despite himself.

Twenty minutes later, they were seated in a quiet bar, just outside the confines of the Starfleet campus. Hessayon talked while Sisko chewed on a mouthful of beef, mustard and salad, which had been served between two slices of slightly stale rye bread.

"I learned more about Julian's situation in a minute from you than he managed to convey to me in over an hour. I want you to tell me what else I need to know."

"How do you mean?"

"For example, of course I knew about the protestors. But the rest of it..." Sisko could see that Hessayon was still shocked by what he'd heard.

"At one point, I wondered..." began Sisko, before tapering off.

"Yes?" said Hessayon.

"Would Julian be better off somewhere else? I mean, somewhere other than Earth. Right back at the beginning, when Julian was outed, he wanted to leave Deep Space Nine. But where else could he go? I'm not sure another Federation world would take him; the political implications would discourage it. But still... I wonder whether it was cruel of us to make the deal...to make him stay."

Hessayon nodded. "You've given this some thought, I see."

"Yes," agreed Sisko. "I've considered taking him back to Deep Space Nine with me. Maybe the Bajorans would take him...? But it's all moot at the moment, anyway, so long as the investigation into Amsha Bashir's death remains open."

Hessayon said, "Oh? How's that?"

"Julian's forbidden to leave Earth. It's all nonsense, of course, but, officially at least, he's a suspect." Then, to make sure Hessayon got the point, he added, "He's stuck here, at least for now."

Hessayon thought for a moment or two, then he asked, "Do you think he'd still want to go somewhere else? If he could?"

"I don't know," said Sisko sombrely. "But I think that should be our option of last resort. It feels too much like...exile. Like we've failed. Leaving should be a choice, not a necessity."

"That sounds rather idealistic, given the current circumstances."

"Does it?" asked Sisko. "I must have caught it off Julian, then." Sisko noticed the expression on Hessayon's face, and he added, "For someone who has been kicked around as much as he has, he's surprisingly idealistic."

"Is he?" said Hessayon, his eyebrows rising. "What else can you tell me about him?"

Sisko wondered what Hessayon wanted to know. Then he began to talk, hoping that what he had to say might be helpful. "He struggles in certain social situations. But I've only recently come to understand that. My initial impressions of him were that he was brash. Young. Over-confident. When first I met him, I didn't know whether he amused or annoyed me. And I know that he rubbed a few people up the wrong way when he arrived on Deep Space Nine. I used to think that he was arrogant and tactless. Now, I think he was simply inexperienced and terrified of asking for anyone's help or guidance, in case they figured out something was...amiss. So he had to muddle through and hope for the best. All things considered, he's done remarkably well. And, in spite of his difficulties, he managed to make friends."

"So, you're saying..."

"He's been frightened of discovery for half his life, and that has obviously affected his behaviours. Now he doesn't have to worry about being discovered all the time, but instead he worries about what he is, what that means, and about how other people will react to him."

Hessayon raised his eyebrows.

"Julian doesn't know where he stands. People hate him because of what he is, or because of what he represents, or because of what he might become. Some of us are genuinely concerned about him, but how is he supposed to know who's who?"

"It must be wearing," said Hessayon thoughtfully.

"At the very least. I'm not sure that Julian will ever be able to fully accept who—what—he is. And I don't blame him for that. I blame his parents. The more I see of Julian, the more I think that two years was too lenient for Richard Bashir, because, even if they did it with good intentions, Julian is essentially facing a life sentence because of what his parents did."

Sisko found himself warming to his theme. Where had all these words and thoughts come from? They must have been building up over the last few weeks, waiting for an opportunity to burst free. "Julian will have to live with the consequences—legal and emotional—of his parents' actions for the rest of his life. He's being singled out and punished for something that was completely outside his control, and the more I see of what that actually means—" He broke off and took a deep breath. Then he continued in more measured tones.

"I thought Bennett recognised that Julian was a victim in all this, and that was why he made the deal. I thought he was showing mercy and compassion, but he was just the first in a long line of people wanting to use Julian for their own ends."

"How do you mean?"

Sisko explained about Project Mendel, ending with, "I take it that Julian didn't tell you about that, either." Sisko sighed. "When he first arrived on DS9, he talked too much...gave people way too much information. Now, I think he's so afraid of pity or of appearing weak, he doesn't tell us enough. That and he has next to no experience of confiding in anybody."

"But you seem to understand him quite well. Doesn't he talk to you?"

"When he's pushed to his limits or when I ask him for specific information, he does. He finds it difficult to ask for help or to volunteer information. But he's getting better." Sisko thought about their conversation on the fire escape.

"I see," said Hessayon grimly. "How the hell am I going to get a handle on this damned case when he won't tell me what I need to know? I'm struggling to understand him and where he's coming from, and that won't do the case any good. If I don't understand him, how can we expect anyone else to?"

Sisko nodded, a gesture designed to acknowledge Hessayon's concern and to move the conversation along.

"You said people have been using him. Who else, besides Bennett?" asked Hessayon.

"Shiva Ghazi. Admiral Fischer." Sisko shrugged. "Maybe others, too."

"Tell me, how badly did I screw up earlier? By not inviting him to join us?"

Sisko considered Hessayon, and then, instead of answering Hessayon's question, he said, "Do you want to get to know him? Really know him, as an individual?"

"Yes. And not just because he's my client. Originally, I took this case because I thought it would be an interesting intellectual challenge. I don't get to practice very much these days, and I miss it. But the more I see and hear, the more I want to win it for Julian's sake, because I think it's the right thing to do."

"In that case," said Sisko, "invite him to come here with you. Buy him a drink. Socialise with him. And then tell him what you've just told me."

"That's it?"

"Pretty much. Just...don't mess him around. With Julian, actions speak a lot louder than words. Tell me, when he first came to you, did you shake his hand?"

Hessayon's forehead creased into a puzzled frown. "Of course."

"And you gave him a cup of your execrable coffee?"

"Yes."

"Those two things on their own... They're more than most people have done since Julian was outed. And they will have made an impression on him. I think, if you give him a lead to follow, he'll talk."

-=o=-

Sisko and Julian scheduled their next meeting with Hessayon in the short period between Sisko's morning meeting and Hessayon's afternoon teaching obligations.

"I have been giving the matter some thought," said Hessayon, "and, rather than just focussing on Intelligence, I believe we need to petition against Starfleet."

"Oh?" asked Sisko.

Hessayon nodded. "I believe we can make the case for institutional prejudice. In addition to the behaviour of Admiral Fischer and members of his Service, there is the matter of Rear Admiral Bennett and the JAG."

Julian frowned. "But Admiral Bennett made a deal. He saved me from being cashiered or having to resign. How can that have been prejudiced? Surely it was a good thing."

"The issue we have to address is why he made the deal. He wasn't being altruistic. He was manipulating you to his own ends. And that, we can argue, is because his behaviour was acceptable in an institutional context. Hence institutional prejudice."

"But," ventured Julian tentatively, "I have no rights in law, so how can what he did be wrong?"

"But you have rights according to Starfleet's policies and procedures. So long as you still have your commission, they apply to you."

Sisko frowned. "So... We'd be challenging Starfleet because it made the deal, but we can only challenge because, on the basis of the deal, Julian still has rights within the organisation?"

"Yes," said Hessayon.

"But that's..."

"The law," said Hessayon with a slight smile. "Now, it seems to me that Starfleet made Julian promises and then broke them."

"But—"

Hessayon's hand flew up, and Julian's words froze in his throat.

"The JAG, acting on Starfleet's behalf, promised, in return for certain things, that you would be allowed to retain your practice and your commission. Isn't that right?"

"Well, yes, but—"

Hessayon shook his head, signalling Julian to be quiet. "Your commission, right? Not a commission, but yours, specifically."

"Yes, but I don't see—"

"And you've not been allowed to retain your practice, have you?"

"No, but that was because the MSB—"

"Not relevant," said Hessayon.

"How can that not be relevant?" asked Julian. "It's not Starfleet's fault that the MSB has independent control over medical licensing."

"No, but it is Starfleet's fault that it made promises that it hasn't been able to keep. Likewise, your commission. You were commissioned as a medical officer, correct?"

"Yes."

"Being a medical officer isn't just about practicing medicine, is it? You told me that you wouldn't have challenged a transfer to Science. Scientific research, not just medical research, is part of your commission, and the MSB has no influence over that."

"No," agreed Julian tentatively.

"But Starfleet wants to transfer you into an entirely different area of work. Not only does it want to transfer you into another branch, but it wants to retrain you."

"Yes," said Julian, curious now to see where Hessayon was going with this.

"I think we can argue that this is so far removed from your original commission that, in this respect also, Starfleet failed to fulfil its end of the bargain. You, on the other hand, have cooperated with all the conditions required of you."

Julian's eyes widened. He had, hadn't he? He'd submitted himself to interviews and tests. His father had willingly surrendered himself to Bennett, and was now doing jail time. And what had Starfleet given them in return? A string of broken promises, that was what!

"It doesn't matter that it wasn't in Starfleet's gift to give all these things to you," said Hessayon. "It is enough that Starfleet said it would and that it did this to serve its own ends. The JAG's behaviour was detrimental to your best interests. We can argue that you acted in good faith, and that Starfleet reneged on its part of the deal. We might even argue that Starfleet acted in bad faith."

Julian stared at Hessayon, his eyes widened by a complicated web of hope, astonishment and fear.

Hessayon picked up on the fear. "Something's bothering you. What is it?"

"I don't want to make things worse. I would still like to be able to work in Starfleet at the end of this. If I can."

"Really? In spite of everything?"

"The laws about the employment of genetically enhanced people would prevent me of working anywhere else, but even without that restriction, I'd like to stay in Starfleet. Starfleet gave me something to believe in, to aim for. Despite everything, I still believe in Starfleet."

Hessayon said, "Would you care to expand on that?"

Sisko simply looked at Julian and waited.

Julian thought for a few moments. Then he said, "I started thinking about joining Starfleet when I was in my teens. It was a few years before Wolf 359, and all the publicity around Starfleet still emphasised its mission of exploration. Everything sounded so brave and bold. And..." Julian looked into the distance. "We moved around, so I saw the inside of a lot of space stations, and I saw a lot of spacecraft. The Starfleet vessels were so much smarter and faster than anything we got to travel on. Starfleet seemed...glamorous."

"I see," said Hessayon. "So you joined for the glamour?" He sounded sceptical.

"That was part of it," admitted Julian. "That and the promise of adventure."

Sisko nodded, and Julian guessed that he was remembering Julian's unrestrained excitement when he'd first arrived on Deep Space Nine, and the way he'd actively sought out new experiences.

"That got me interested, anyway. But what really clinched it was... We had a stopover on Starbase 297. I'd only recently found out, and Father had been... It doesn't matter... I was upset, and so I wandered off, wanting to get away for a while. And a Starfleet officer found me. He talked to me. In fact, he let me talk, although I didn't tell him anything about...you know... He actually listened to me, and he sympathised. Nobody had ever done that before. And he told me about their mission and some of their adventures, and he told me about IDIC and...and I thought, if I could ever find a home anywhere, it would be in Starfleet, where differences were valued, not condemned."

Hessayon nodded as though he understood. Maybe he did, at least a little, even if Julian hadn't told him everything.

Julian had avoided mentioning the conflicting pressures his father had put on him to excel and to hide, and to be better than everyone else but never the best he could be. Julian hadn't understood the reason for the mixed messages until he was fifteen. All he'd known before that was that his father's arguments seemed inconsistent and confusing, and Julian's confusion had repeatedly bubbled up into conflict. After Julian had found out, his confusion had been replaced by resentment, their conflicts had escalated, and Julian had felt an ever-stronger desire to get away.

Starfleet had been attractive. It had offered opportunities and adventure, an out from the pressure-cooker environment of home, and a career that even his father couldn't complain about.

Then, when finally the truth about his genetic status had become public, Sisko, O'Brien and Jadzia had all lived up to Julian's ideal of Starfleet, and Julian thought that, with people like them, he'd been right to join.

Of course, not everyone in Starfleet was like them. But, realistically, he hadn't expected that, had he? If he had, he wouldn't have kept his secret for so long or so well, and his first instinct upon discovery wouldn't have been to run. Despite all his hopes and ideals, Julian hadn't dared to admit that he was different.

-=o=-

When the meeting finally wound up, and Sisko and Julian stood up to leave, Hessayon got up, walked around his desk, and touched Julian lightly on his arm. "Are you busy later? As you know, I've got a class this afternoon, but how about we meet up afterwards for a drink?"

Julian hesitated, then he glanced at Sisko.

"You want to join us, Captain?" asked Hessayon.

Sisko gave a perfunctory smile and said, "I would, but it's my sister's birthday, and I thought I'd call in on her on the way home."

"Judith?" asked Julian, his interest aroused. "When am I finally going to get to meet her?"

Sisko looked uncomfortable, shook his head, and said, "I'm sorry."

"Oh. I see." Hessayon's eyes on him, gauging his reaction, amplified Julian's discomfort. He turned his head slightly, doing his best to exclude Hessayon from the conversation. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked quietly.

"Because we didn't want you to know. We were worried that, if you did, you might try to leave again."

Was he really that predictable? Julian was struck by how well Joseph and Sisko had come to understand him. Even so, he had to ask. "Shouldn't I go, though? After all, she's your family."

"No. This is her problem, not yours. You stay. And, just so you know, as far as Dad and I are concerned, you've become family, too."

Julian's mouth dropped open in astonishment, and Sisko laughed.

-=o=-

Julian wasn't quite sure how they had arranged to meet at a bar when Julian had never actually accepted Hessayon's invitation to go out for a drink together. Nonetheless, Julian arrived on schedule at the address Hessayon had suggested.

He walked out of the sun and into the cool gloom of the bar's interior. The lighting was soft and low, and it took a few moments for his eyes to adjust. Julian looked around, noting that the décor was warm wood and polished brass, retro lamps and padded seats, before he finally spotted Hessayon, who had bagged a table towards the back of the room. Julian waved, and Hessayon saluted him with his beer glass.

Julian went up to the bar and leaned against it as he waited to be served. Looking bored, the bartender turned to take Julian's order.

Julian saw the exact moment when the bartender recognised him. In an instant, the bartender's attitude switched from apathy to antipathy and his eyes narrowed as he said, "We don't serve your kind here."

Julian recoiled in shock. Then, before he could stop himself, he heard himself say, "My kind?" How many genetically enhanced customers did they get in here?

"Nips." The bartender's upper lip curled to match the sneer he'd loaded into the insult. Then he pointedly turned his back on Julian, leaving him alone and painfully aware of the stares of the customers who had been in earshot of the exchange. Julian's face burned as he tried to ignore the whispers.

He wanted to leave. Had Hessayon not been waiting for him, he would have left. Instead, Julian resolutely straightened his shoulders and walked deeper into the room, aware of the stares and comments that followed him.

Hessayon looked up as Julian reached the table. As he moved to sit down, Julian said, "Hello, Professor."

Hessayon opened his mouth and began to form his own greeting, but the words vanished before they formed. Instead, he asked, "Where's your drink?"

Trying to sound dispassionate, Julian answered, "The bartender refused to serve me."

"What!"

"He recognised me. And then I recognised him and some of his customers. I've seen them protesting outside Starfleet Medical. At least he didn't throw me out." But Julian suspected that the bartender had expected and wanted him to leave.

"Well, I'm not staying to drink in a place where you're not wanted," said Hessayon, sounding disgusted. He put his glass down and moved to stand up.

"Sir... Please... Don't make a scene," said Julian, his voice quiet and his head bowed.

Annoyed, Hessayon leaned in towards Julian and said, "Don't tell me you're okay with this!"

"I have to be okay with it," answered Julian stiffly. "It's the law."

Hessayon seemed to soften. "And what did I tell you about the law?"

Julian blinked.

"I told you, just like I tell all my students, that the law is something to question and to challenge."

Julian nodded, remembering. "Back in Medical Law and Ethics."

Hessayon nodded perfunctorily and said. "Come on. Let's get out of here and go someplace where nobody will bother you."

Julian didn't ask where, other than in New Orleans, such a place might exist.

-=o=-

A short walk and a transporter journey later, Julian found himself standing next to Hessayon in an unfamiliar townscape. "Where are we?" he asked.

"Alaska."

"Alaska?" asked Julian, astonished, though he couldn't have said why. With transporter technology, the whole world was within reach. Why, then, did Alaska seem so unlikely?

"Juneau, to be exact," said Hessayon. "Dougie, who runs that establishment over there, and I went to school together, in Anchorage. Then I went off to study law, and Dougie bought the bar. He's been here ever since."

The longest Julian had ever spent anywhere had been his time at Starfleet Academy, and he wondered what it would be like to spend decades in one place.

Hessayon led the way across the road and into a two-storey, clapboard, building. There were several people playing darts towards the back of the room, but, except for a man with silver hair and a florid complexion, who was lounging over the counter, watching the game, the front half was empty.

"Evening, Dougie!" called Hessayon.

Dougie turned towards the sound of Hessayon's voice, and his face split in warm welcome. "Well, hello, Baldie! What brings you all the way up here? And on a weekday!"

"We just wanted somewhere to have a quiet drink." Hessayon gestured to include Julian in his comment.

"Oh, of course," said Dougie, with wry scepticism. "Because there are no bars in San Francisco."

"We ran into a bit of a problem," said Hessayon. "That's all."

"Oh?" said Dougie, his eyes suddenly twinkling with curiosity.

"The bartender in the one we went into refused to serve me," said Julian, looking straight into Dougie's face, testing his reaction.

Dougie raised his eyebrows. "Well, you're not underage, and I can tell that you're not drunk, so you're welcome in here."

"But I am—" Julian broke off and looked away.

"You're what?" asked Dougie.

Hessayon leaned forward and quietly said, "He was genetically enhanced as a child."

"So?" asked Dougie, sounding utterly unconcerned.

Julian's head snapped around, and he stared at Dougie with open-mouthed disbelief.

Dougie simply smiled back and said, "What'll it be, boys?"

"Julian?" asked Hessayon. "Dougie, serves fantastic draft lager. Or, if you prefer, he keeps a few excellent whiskies underneath the counter."

"I think I'll try the lager," said Julian, finally beginning to relax. "Thank you."

"Two pints, and whatever you want for yourself," Hessayon said to Dougie.

Dougie smiled and nodded, and busied himself at the pumps. Then, when he put the drinks in front of Julian and Hessayon, he said, "So, Baldie, you gonna introduce me to your friend?"

Julian noticed that Hessayon didn't quibble with Dougie's description. Instead, he merely said, "Oh, right. Sorry. Dougie. This is Julian. Julian, Dougie."

"Good to meet you." Dougie held out his hand to Julian. Julian took it and felt himself relax even more. "How do you two know each other?"

"Professor Hessayon is representing me."

"So this is a business meeting?"

Hessayon shook his head. "This is a social getting-to-know-you-better meeting."

Dougie said, "Well, I'll leave you to it," and then he moved away to serve one of the darts players, who'd come up to the bar and was waiting impatiently, eager to be served and to return to his game.

Hessayon and Julian wandered over to a small table and sat down. They both took a long drink, and then they both sighed a contented, "Ahhh!"

Startled, they looked at each other and chuckled, the moment of synchronicity somehow breaking down more barriers. However, despite feeling more relaxed, Julian found that conversation didn't come easily.

The front door opened, and a small party came in. Julian idly watched as Dougie served them. Finally he asked, "Why does Dougie call you Baldy? You're not bald."

Hessayon chuckled. "Baldie. It's a nickname. My full name is Archibald Hessayon. My family called me Archie when I was growing up, but Dougie thought it'd be funnier to call me Baldie, and it stuck."

"You didn't mind?"

Hessayon shrugged. "It was a joke. And maybe I minded a little, to begin with. But it was all in good humour, and after a while I got used to it."

Julian twisted around to watch the darts game while he considered that. Meanwhile, Hessayon considered Julian. Then Hessayon said, "I hope you don't think he was giving away any confidences, but Captain Sisko told me that you sometimes have problems in social situations."

Julian did mind, but he trusted that Sisko would not have said anything without good reason. So Julian nodded. "He's right. I didn't acquire normal social skills as a small child. Maybe I could have been taught them later, but no-one thought of that, so I've had to do my best to learn for myself, and it hasn't always been easy to get things right." Julian paused, watched one of the darts players take a shot, then continued. "I got up the courage a few years ago to ask someone I work with whether I annoyed him. I thought I did, but I wasn't sure, and, if I did annoy him, I wanted to know why, so I could do something about it. But even my question annoyed him, and he didn't give me an honest—or helpful—answer." Julian sighed. "I didn't ask again."

The players were fairly evenly matched. Julian found it hard to gauge how good they were. The only people he could compare them against were O'Brien and himself. On the station, Julian and O'Brien were the best players, probably because they were the only two people who played regularly enough to develop any real skills. These players were better than O'Brien but, on a good day, nobody could come close to Julian's level of skill.

"You play darts?" asked Hessayon.

Julian nodded. "With my friend Miles. On the space station."

"You any good?"

Julian turned and looked askance at Hessayon. Then he shifted uneasily in his chair, took courage in both hands, and answered, "Yes."

"My question made you uncomfortable," ventured Hessayon. "Why?"

"Mine's not...a natural ability. My hand-eye coordination was enhanced, along with a lot of other things. And I lied about how good I was. And then, when Miles found out about me and figured out what my being enhanced actually meant... Now, I have to play with a handicap to make the game fair."

"Well," said Hessayon, "I'm absolutely terrible, and you'd trounce me, enhancements or no. Still, if you'd like a game, I'd be happy to play."

Julian shook his head. "No. It's okay, thanks. I...I'd rather not have an audience."

Julian wondered what Hessayon's contemplative silence meant, and he was grateful when Hessayon spoke again. "What else do you do for fun? Besides darts."

Julian frowned. "I enjoyed my work, but now I can't... And my research. I enjoyed that, when I got a chance to do any."

"But your research is also work, and you know what they say? All work and no play—"

"—makes Julian a dull boy?"

"Precisely. So what would you be doing now, if you were on that space station of yours, and you weren't working?"

"I'd read. I'd play games with Miles and have lunch with Garak. And sometimes I might role play in the holosuite, but I don't do that as much as I used to."

"Why not?"

"I started spending more time with other people. Or they started spending time with me."

Hessayon looked at Julian as though that didn't quite make sense. He changed the subject. "Back in San Francisco... How often does that kind of thing happen?"

Julian shrugged. "Not often."

Hessayon pursed his lips. "How often is 'not often'?"

Julian looked back towards the darts game. "I try to avoid situations where it could happen."

"So it happens enough that you need to avoid the situation?"

"I... No," said Julian uncertainly. "That's the first place I've been into where they've actually refused to serve me, but..."

"But?"

Julian sighed and figured that, after the things Sisko had said in their first meeting with Hessayon, it wouldn't make much difference if he told the truth. "But since my genetic status became public, people have refused to sit with me, or to let me sit with them. And then there are the protestors, and there was the riot in New Orleans. And I've been told I can't visit my father in prison. And now the Captain's sister doesn't want to know me. Sometimes it's just easier not to try."

"I...see," said Hessayon sombrely.

Julian felt an unaccountable need to reassure Hessayon. "Not everyone's like that, though. The other Siskos aren't, obviously. And my relatives..." He smiled. "I didn't know I had any relatives other than my parents until Uncle Lionel turned up in New Orleans. They've been nice to me. I like them. And Dr Loews... She introduced me to the other mutants."

"The other _mutants_?"

The colour rose in Julian's cheeks again and, embarrassed, he muttered, "What else would you call us? Mutant is better than Augment, Nip, or freak, and we're not allowed to call ourselves human. Not legally, anyway."

"Would you like to be called human?"

"It would be nice," said Julian wistfully. The conversation felt heavy, and Julian felt a need to escape it. So he asked, "What was it like, growing up in Alaska?"

Hessayon chuckled. "Kinda like growing up anywhere else, I would imagine."

Julian shook his head. "You stayed in one place long enough to belong. I never had that, and I can't really imagine what that would have been like."

Hessayon looked at him thoughtfully, and Julian wished he hadn't said anything. He picked up his glass and tried to cover his discomfiture by taking a long swig. The lager really was very good.

Then Hessayon said, "It was cold and dark in the winter. And the summers were short, even if the summer days were long. We spent a lot of time in the wilderness. It was...paradise...and I was a teenager, so I found it boring, and I left the first chance I got. Now I only come back for visits, mostly for the fishing. Have you ever been fishing?"

"No," said Julian.

"Right then. You. Me. Sunday. I'll bring the rods and tackle. You bring your own waders and the picnic, and we'll go to Cordova, and make a day of it."

"Why?" asked Julian.

"Because it's fun and relaxing, you won't have an audience, and I think you might enjoy it."


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty-three**

"Elizabeth Lilienfeld has been leaving messages for you," said Mei-Lin Ghazi-Fahid, dragging her eyes from her PADD to look up at her husband. "She says she wants to talk to you about your family. Specifically your sister."

"I know she does," said Fahid. "I've been dodging her calls." He walked over to the replicator and fixed drinks for them both. Then he wandered over the couch, sat down beside Mei-Lin, and handed her a tumbler. "I'm hoping that, if I ignore her, she'll give up."

Mei-Lin slammed the glass down on the coffee table. "Are you insane? She's a journalist! She even resorted to handwriting a note on a piece of paper and slipping it under the front door! Of course she's not going to give up!"

"I let her interview me. She's talked to everyone in the family. Nobody, other than us, knows anything. If we can just wait it out, we'll be fine." Although Fahid protested, his protest had more to do with wishful thinking than with reason.

-=o=-

Julian materialised on a rough track that acted as a firebreak between two stands of fir trees. He looked around and up. Above him, the blue sky was pocked with fair-weather cumulus.

Hessayon, who had materialised next to him, pointed, and said, "This way."

"This way" took them down a gentle incline. After about a hundred yards, the trees opened out, and an expanse of wilderness came into view. Julian and Hessayon were on the lower slopes of a valley, just above an extensive flood plain.

In the centre of the valley, Julian could see a meandering ribbon of water glittering gold in the mid-morning sun. On the far side of the plain, the land rose again. Tree covered slopes segued into high, barren mountaintops.

Julian paused to take in the majesty of the landscape. He took a deep breath of pure, clean air, and he felt his mouth curve into the beginnings of an appreciative smile.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" said Hessayon.

"Yes," agreed Julian. Even though they were still in North America, this was a world away from New Orleans, San Francisco, Starfleet or Julian's worries.

"Come on," said Hessayon. "We've got fish to catch!" He set off again, heading purposefully down the track.

Caught flat-footed, Julian had to jog a few paces to catch up, but then he fell easily into step with Hessayon.

They walked on for a while. The only sounds they made came from the scrunch of gravel beneath their feet, the clink and rustle of their kit as they walked, and the gentle huff of their breathing. Far above them, Julian could make out the plaintive cry of a bird of prey. Other birds chattered and alarmed in the nearby scrub.

"How much further?" asked Julian finally, more to make conversation than because of any real desire to know.

"About another five minutes."

Three minutes and forty-nine seconds later, Julian found himself scrambling down a grassy bank, onto a stony beach on the inside curve of a meander. Following Hessayon's example, he shucked off his pack.

"Put your waders on, and I'll get you started," said Hessayon. Julian did as he was ordered.

When they were fully dressed, Hessayon showed Julian how to fasten the fly, talked through the general principles of casting, and then led the way out into the water. Julian splashed along, following close behind.

They came to a stop, and Hessayon showed Julian what to do. Hessayon nudged and encouraged, proving himself to be a far more patient teacher than Julian would have expected, based on what he remembered from the lecture theatre.

After a few attempts, Julian managed to throw a line well enough to earn himself some praise. After several more attempts, Hessayon was sufficiently pleased with Julian's progress to move away and throw out his own line.

As Julian continued to practice, he grew used to how the current pushed past him and the way the water pressed the fabric of the waders against his legs. Once he got accustomed to the sensation, he found he rather liked standing against the flow.

The fish weren't biting, but Hessayon didn't seem to mind. When Julian asked him about that, Hessayon said, "I come out here for the quiet. Catching something is just icing on the cake."

Julian decided he could understand that. He could feel the peace of the place permeating his body, easing his muscles and seeping into his bones. He could feel his tension bleed away. It felt glorious to have the sun on his skin, the light breeze against his face, and to know that the only things staring at him were insects, birds and a few mammals. He felt lighter than he had in weeks.

"How did you find this place?" he asked. "It's wonderful."

"My dad used to bring me here. He taught me everything he knew. Then, when my boys were small, I brought them up here, too. Of course, back then, we'd hike in all the way from the trailhead. We'd camp out for whole weekends and live off the land." He smiled, and Julian could tell that Hessayon's memories were fond ones.

Julian felt a pang in his chest that might have been longing or envy, and, not for the first time, he wished that his childhood had been more like other people's.

Hessayon pulled Julian out of his thoughts by saying, "But you must have seen plenty of other beautiful places, what with all the worlds you must have been to."

"Yes," said Julian. "But there's something special about Earth. On other worlds, the sky isn't quite the right shade of blue, or the trees are the wrong shade of green. Or the birds—or whatever the local equivalent is—don't sound quite the same."

Hessayon nodded, and he summed up Julian's comments by saying, "They're not home."

"No," said Julian.

"You sound...doubtful. Why?"

Julian hesitated. Then he said, "It's just...I'm not sure that Earth is home, either." He could hear the wistfulness in his own voice.

"But you'd like it to be?" suggested Hessayon, making the sentence into a question.

"Yes," admitted Julian. "But just because I want something doesn't mean that other people want it for me, too." He ended the conversation by casting his line again and again, concentrating on landing the fly lightly on the water the way Hessayon had shown him.

After about an hour, Hessayon suggested that they break for lunch, and they wound in their lines and headed for the shore.

They sat down on a couple of large, flat boulders, and Julian unpacked the food and drinks that he'd brought. They took their time eating, and Hessayon praised the meal. Julian smiled with pleasure and said, "Joseph and Nathan told me what to do, but I prepared everything myself."

Hessayon nodded. "Food preparation is a useful skill to have—and an increasingly rare one, these days."

Julian agreed, and said, "I've learned a lot, staying with the Siskos."

"And, have you enjoyed it?"

"Staying with the Siskos?"

"Yes."

"Yes. Plus, it's the closest I've ever come to seeing what life with a normal family might be like, and that's been interesting."

"What about your own family?"

"What about them?"

"Well, for example, what kinds of things did you do with your father, when you were growing up?"

Hessayon frowned at Julian's silence, while Julian felt the muscles in his shoulders tighten as his earlier peace buckled under the weight of the question.

"You must have done things with him, surely."

Julian tried to make his answer into a joke. "We argued."

"But—"

Julian picked up a stone and hurled it into the water.

"Hey! Don't do that! You'll scare the fish!"

Julian raised his eyebrows and resisted the urge to ask, "What fish?" Instead, he shook his head to clear it. He took a few calming breaths. Then he turned towards Hessayon, wanting to apologise for his behaviour. To his surprise, Hessayon was looking at him with unmistakeable concern on his face.

Before Julian got a chance to open his mouth, Hessayon said, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

Julian shook his head. "No, I'm the one who should apologise. You asked an innocent question. It's not your fault that..."

"That, what?" Then Hessayon held up his hands. "Sorry again. You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to."

Julian sighed. He reached out and plucked a few blades of grass from the riverbank. Then he pulled them to pieces. Finally, he began to talk. He hoped he sounded dispassionate as he said, "Even if Dad had wanted to do anything with me, I don't suppose that there was much I could do before I was...you know. And afterwards..." He shook his head. "I think he thought the enhancements solved everything, and he pretty much left me to my own devices after that."

"Huh," said Hessayon. Julian wasn't sure what that meant, but he didn't ask and Hessayon didn't elaborate.

Suddenly tired of the conversation, Julian threw the dregs of his drink onto the ground and began packing the picnic things away. Hessayon followed Julian's lead, passed over his own utensils, and said, "Ready to get back out there?"

-=o=-

They had more luck in the afternoon. First Hessayon landed a trout. Then Julian managed to reel in one of his own. Three more followed in quick succession.

They cooked the two smallest fish over an open fire, and Julian savoured the taste of the flesh, which flaked off the bones. If this was how good real food could taste, no wonder Joseph was so dismissive of replicators! Hessayon pressed the remaining fish on Julian, telling him to take them home and share them with the Siskos.

-=o=-

The sun was lowering towards the western horizon by the time Hessayon and Julian headed back to the beam in point. As they waited for transport, Julian said, "Thank you for today. I enjoyed myself."

"Good," said Hessayon, looking inordinately pleased. He clapped Julian on the shoulder. "Let's do it again sometime."

Julian nodded and said sincerely, "I'd like that."

-=o=-

Julian wasn't sure whether it was curiosity or the lure of good food and coffee, but Hessayon chose to come to New Orleans for their next meeting, rather than having Sisko and Julian come to him.

A light breeze fluttered the leaves of the patio's plants and played around their ankles as they sat at one of the bistro tables. Meanwhile, Nathan and Joseph busied themselves in the kitchen, providing a percussion soundtrack of chopping and slicing to the conversation.

"I have paperwork for you to sign," Hessayon said.

"Already?" asked Sisko.

Hessayon nodded. "Yes. We've decided who we're naming in our petition, and we know in broad terms what we're asking for. That's all we need at the moment. This is simply to get the legal process moving. It will be enough to get a judge assigned to the case. I'm confident that, by the time we have a date finalised, we'll have everything else sorted out." He smiled faintly and said with dry humour, "I _have_ done this before, you know." Then he seemed to rethink his words and said, "Well, not this exact thing, but I am quite familiar with court procedures."

Hessayon handed a PADD to Sisko and said, "You have to sign it on both your behalves."

Sisko nodded unhappily. "Fine. I'll sign. But only if Julian is happy for me to." In his turn, he held the PADD out to Julian, who took it.

Julian read the document quickly and said, "It looks pretty straightforward."

"It is," said Hessayon.

Julian passed the PADD back to Sisko, who took more time reading it than Julian had done. Then, when he was finished, Sisko looked at Julian and said, "You happy for me to sign?"

Julian nodded. Sisko picked up the stylus, took a deep breath, and scrawled his name. He handed the PADD back to Hessayon. Then he suggested that Hessayon stay and try some jambalaya.

-=o=-

"You came back!" cried Patrick, his mobile face split by a delighted grin. "I said you would, but Jack said you wouldn't, that you didn't like it here, and that you didn't like us. But you do like us, don't you? Yes, of course you do! I can tell!"

"Hello, darling," purred Lauren, as she stroked his face with a long-nailed hand.

"Hello, Patrick. Lauren. Sarina." Julian looked around and asked, "Where _is_ Jack, anyway?"

"He's around here somewhere," said Lauren with a shrug. "He's sulking because he hates to be wrong about anything, and he was wrong about you."

Patrick and Lauren were more open and friendly that they'd been on Julian's first visit, and Julian realised that their previous behaviour had, at least in part, been a test to see if he would return, or if he, like so many others, would abandon them.

"Are you still a doctor?" asked Patrick. "Last time you visited, you said you might not be one for much longer."

Julian sighed. "No. I'm not a doctor any longer." It didn't hurt to say the words to them quite so much as it did to say them to other people. They understood, possibly more so than anyone else he knew. Other people might sympathise, but the mutants could relate.

"What are you going to do now?" asked Lauren.

"I don't know," said Julian. "My choices appear to be...limited."

"Because of the law," said Patrick.

"Because of the way you were before," said Lauren.

"Yes," said Julian, agreeing with both of them. "The only place I can work is in Starfleet, and, even there, only Intelligence seems to have an opening for—" He broke off before he could give voice to his usual self-loathing bitterness. He refused to hurt the others with the implication that—like him—they were freaks and monsters. They weren't. They were unique individuals and—

—and so was he.

Wasn't that exactly what Loews had told him, right back when they'd first met? He hadn't been ready to believe her then, but he thought he might be ready to believe her now.

"—a mutant," Lauren said, filling in the end of Julian's unfinished sentence. She and Patrick were watching him carefully, and he had the uncanny sense that they knew exactly what he'd been thinking.

"Yes," he agreed.

"Julian can appeal," said Loews.

Patrick and Lauren looked at her, either surprised or quietly irritated that she'd involved herself in the conversation, maybe both. Loews caught their reaction and moved away, leaving them alone.

"Is that true?" asked Patrick. "Can you appeal?"

"Yes," said Julian, "for all the good it'll do."

"You sound like you've given up already," observed Lauren.

"Have you?" asked Patrick, his brow puckering into a deep frown. "Have you given up?"

"I... No," Julian said, but he wondered whether that was true. "I'm just tired of fighting, I suppose."

Lauren cocked her head. "Are you always so defeatist?"

"I'm not defeatist," protested Julian. "I'm just being realistic."

Patrick shook his head. "You're predetermining the outcome."

"Pardon?"

Lauren nodded, agreeing with Patrick. "If you don't fight—or you don't fight hard enough—then you have already lost. Your actions will have helped to determine the outcome of your appeal. If you don't fight, you'll have lost. If you don't believe you can win, then you'll almost certainly lose. Your best chance of achieving a positive outcome is to believe you can win and fight accordingly, even if the odds are against you."

Patrick nodded and smiled.

"So...you're saying that the odds are against me, but that I can shift the odds in my favour by choosing to believe that the outcome could be different to anything currently indicated by the probabilities?"

"Yes," said Lauren and Patrick together. The expression on Patrick's face made Julian feel like a particularly dim-witted student who had just exceeded his teacher's expectations.

Julian found himself remembering something O'Brien had said to him, back when he'd been getting ready to leave Deep Space Nine. O'Brien had asked Julian not to give up and had told him to, "Have a little faith. Have hope." Now Julian was struck by the similarities of O'Brien's argument and what Lauren and Patrick had just said.

The thought crossed Julian's mind that he'd clung on to hope during the disciplinary tribunal, but that hadn't helped him at all. But then, he hadn't really _believed_ that he could win, had he? He had just desperately wished that, by some miracle, everything would come out right in the end. Maybe wishing, on its own, wasn't enough.

"You know," said Julian, "it sounds as though you're telling me to have faith."

"Does it?" said Lauren, sounding surprised. "I thought we were telling you to fight for what you wanted, and how best to beat the odds."

"We can show you the math, if you'd like," offered Patrick.

Julian raised his eyebrows. "Maybe later," he said. He had to admit that he was a little intrigued at the idea. Then he filed the conversation away for future consideration and changed the subject. "I brought you a few things."

"You brought us presents!" declared Patrick joyously. "Nobody ever brings us presents. But—oh—you didn't wrap them up!" His expression switched from delighted to distraught in an instant.

"I'm sorry," said Julian. "Next time, all right?"

Patrick's face lit up again. "Yes! Next time." He turned to Lauren and said, as though Julian wasn't in the room with them, "There's going to be a next time. That's good, isn't it!"

Lauren looked at Julian, her eyes smouldering, and she said, "Yes. That's very good. I could never get enough of you, my _gorgeous_ man." She grabbed him and, for a moment, Julian thought she was going for his mouth. However, at the last minute, she moved her head to one side and playfully pecked his cheek.

How much of Lauren's overt sexuality was playacting, and how much was built on actual desire? Like Jack's encroachment of people's personal space, maybe this was Lauren's way of testing new acquaintances. If so, that changed things, didn't it? It changed her behaviour from being potentially wildly inappropriate to being merely perverse.

Lauren's lips curled slightly and, again, Julian suspected that she knew exactly what he'd been thinking.

"What did you bring us?" asked Lauren, and Julian could tell that, although she wore the emotions differently, she was as pleased as Patrick that he'd brought gifts.

"Oh...PADDs...old news feeds. So you can find out what's been going on. I wanted to bring you up-to-date material but—" He shrugged, and began pulling things out of his shoulder bag. "Consider this a test. If this doesn't 'over stimulate' you, then maybe we'll be able to get you access to other things, too."

"Oh! This is good, very good!" said Jack, suddenly appearing out of nowhere. "This is more than we've been allowed before. Yes, yes, this is good! Yes!"

"You're a very sweet man," said Lauren. Patrick nodded furiously.

Jack snatched up one of the PADDs and said, "Let's see what's on here!"

The mutants had voracious appetites for information. Even Sarina joined in, reading avidly and silently, while the other three studied, absorbed information, and questioned Julian about anything that didn't quite make sense.

Their lack of understanding annoyed him because it showed all too clearly how isolated they'd been from the outside world, and for how long. They didn't lack the capacity to understand; they lacked a wealth of context that most people took for granted.

Julian did his best to plug the gaps in their knowledge, even as he marvelled at how quickly they learned and the speed at which they consumed the materials he'd brought.

Finally, they ran out of questions, and Julian suggested that they might take advantage of today's good weather to venture outside. His suggestion was as much to test the limits of their freedom as to experience for himself as much of an illusion of liberty as he could.

The mutants agreed to his suggestion. Julian couldn't quite shake the feeling that they were humouring him and they understood far too much about his motivations.

-=o=-

The grounds immediately surrounding the building had been turned into lawn, easy to mow and maintain. Flowers, shrubs and borders had been kept to a minimum, presumably to cut down on work.

Further away from the building, the grass gave way to forest. Ferns carpeted the forest floor and thick green moss covered the trunks and boughs of the trees. Shafts of sunlight striped the forest in bands of light and dark. The only concession to the residents' recreational needs was a network of trails that criss-crossed through the undergrowth.

Julian could see why Loews liked it here. He liked it, too, but the attractiveness of the grounds was offset by what the facility represented. He still found the Institute unsettling, even frightening.

The four inmates walked on ahead, their personalities manifesting in their body language and behaviours. Sarina strolled, head down and silent. Patrick gambled and spun with childlike delight. Jack climbed trees so that he could perform aerial acrobatics as he threw himself off their branches, spinning through the air to land, catlike and graceful, on both feet. All the while, Lauren watched over the others like a proud Den Mother.

Julian followed on behind, watching them, mindful that Karen Loews was carefully matching his pace. Finally, when they were a reasonable distance behind the others, she began to talk.

"They like you," she started.

"I like them," said Julian. "They're..." He searched for a word. "I find them very restful."

"Restful?" asked Loews, her eyebrows rising. "That's not a word I would use to describe them."

"They're challenging and argumentative, and they certainly keep me on my toes. But I don't have to second-guess them. They're very direct. And I find that a refreshing change from most people."

Loews considered his words. Then she said, "I've been thinking. You could stay here, if you wanted. It would have to be an informal arrangement, given your legal situation. They react well to you, and you relate to them in ways that I never could."

Julian glanced at her. He couldn't see anything in her expression to suggest that she had anything other than the best of intentions in her invitation. He could see how he could do some good at the Institute, and he wanted—needed—to feel of value and of use.

But...

To stay at the Institute?

He suppressed a shiver. He couldn't do it.

But...

Was that fair on the others? Didn't he owe it to them to make their lives better?

Julian said, "I'll think about it," but he knew in his heart that he longed to turn her down. Then he picked up his pace, jogging to catch up with the others.

Julian tried to smile and laugh, but he must have tried too hard, because Patrick peered at him intently, leaning in close and staring into his face.

"You're worried about something," Patrick said.

"Dr Loews said something that bothers you," surmised Lauren.

"You weren't worried earlier," said Patrick. "Not like this, anyway."

"What did she say?" demanded Jack. "H'm? H'm? What?"

"You can tell us," said Patrick.

"You can tell us anything," cooed Lauren.

"Yes, yes! Tell us! Tell us!" urged Jack.

Sarina stood quietly and might or might not have been taking the conversation in.

He didn't want to tell them, because he didn't want to hurt them. What if they took his reluctance to join them as a rejection? Then again, in its own way, keeping his own counsel was also a kind of rejection, and he wanted to keep alive the trust they had begun to develop. So, he hesitantly told them about the conversation he'd had with Loews and about her offer.

To his surprise, the mutants scoffed at her suggestion and wholeheartedly agreed with his inclination to turn Loews down, albeit for a range of reasons different to his own. Lauren shook her head. "You don't belong here. You're our friend from the outside. If you came to live here, that would change."

"How could you bring us presents, if you were in here with us?" asked Patrick. "If you were in here all the time, we wouldn't have the opportunity to look forward to your visits."

"Besides," said Jack, "it would give them what they want: another mutant hidden away, yes, yes. You need to stay outside. Don't give them the satisfaction."

Later, as he prepared to leave, Lauren hugged him close and whispered in his ear. "Fight," she said. "Fight for what you want, what you deserve. And when you fight, remember that you are fighting for us, too."

"Thank you," said Julian, and he hugged her tighter as he said good-bye. He felt Lauren cop a feel, cupping his right buttock, but he knew her heart wasn't in it, and he laughed.

-=o=-

Shiva Ghazi scowled at Fahid. "I thought you said that journalist had finished all her interviews."

"I thought she had," said Fahid, trying to mask his unease.

"Well, she still hasn't submitted a draft of the article for us to vet, and she came by the office, saying that she wanted to talk to you again."

Fahid straightened up and tried to ignore the prickling feeling at the back of his neck. "What does she want to talk to me for?"

"She said she wanted to know more about your...sister? I didn't know you had a sister."

"I don't," said Fahid flatly and firmly. "I did, but she's dead. She died years ago."

"That's not what Lilienfeld said. She mentioned an ongoing murder investigation. She made it sound very mysterious."

"My sister," said Fahid stiffly, "disappeared more than twenty-five years ago. Seven years after that, my parents had her declared dead. There's no mystery. No story."

Ghazi looked sceptical and said, "She brought a policeman with her."

"Why?"

Ghazi answered with a question of his own. "Where were you, eighteen days ago?"

Fahid didn't give the question any thought before he said, "With Mei-Lin. Ask her, if you don't believe me."

Ghazi's eyes narrowed, and he said, "Don't worry. I will. And so will they. Now, I want you to look me in the eye and tell me that the name Amsha Bashir, née Fahid, doesn't mean anything to you."

-=o=-

By the time Sisko and Julian next went to see him, Hessayon had managed to fit an additional chair into his office.

Hessayon opened the meeting by saying, "Just so you know, I got a death threat this morning. Addressed to all of us. I passed it on to the police. They told me—us—to be careful."

"You don't sound overly concerned," observed Sisko. "Actually, you sound almost...happy."

"Oh, I consider a good death threat to be a badge of honour. It's not the first one I've ever received, and I hope that it won't be the last. When someone sends me threats, it usually means that I'm fighting for something big enough, important enough, to upset people." He smiled and sighed with something that sounded oddly like satisfaction. "It's been a long time since I got one, and it reminded me of the old days, back when I fought a lot of cases and tilted at windmills."

Julian had to think for a few moments before he got the reference. Sisko looked confused, and Julian guessed that he'd never heard of Don Quixote.

Hessayon changed the subject. "I've done some research, and I've come to several conclusions."

Sisko and Julian looked across Hessayon's cluttered desk, and waited for him to continue. The pile of students' assignments had gone, and had been replaced by a new assortment of mismatched tablets, data rods and chips.

"I watched a recording of your disciplinary tribunal." Hessayon looked at Julian and said, "You and your mediator fought valiantly. Pity you were fighting the wrong battle."

"Sir?" asked Julian, while Sisko leaned forward in his seat, a non-verbal request for more information.

"You made a fundamental mistake," said Hessayon. "You thought that the tribunal was about you, Julian Bashir. But it wasn't. Not really. Rather it was about Augments as a group, and what they can or can't be allowed to do. You planned and presented your arguments well, but they were worth nothing when the panel refused to see Julian Bashir, the individual, and concentrated on Julian Bashir, the Augmented human. So, if we want to win the case at the court hearing, we need to find a way to challenge the orthodoxy surrounding the genetically enhanced—debunk the myths, as it were—and then argue your case."

Julian sighed, then tried to concentrate on thinking positively. It was harder than he'd thought it would be. He saw Hessayon watching him carefully and he felt Sisko's concern.

Sisko asked, "_Can_ we debunk the myths?"

"I believe so," said Hessayon. "As I said, I've been doing some research." He looked at and spoke directly to Julian. "Let me put this another way... Were you punished because of what you are, or because of what you did?"

Julian said, "The two things aren't mutually exclusive. I did what I did—I broke the law—because of what I am. It was the only way for me to become a doctor...or to do anything worthwhile."

"True. But why didn't the tribunal show any kind of compassion or leniency in its ruling?"

"Because Delon rigged the whole thing," said Sisko.

"Well, yes. That's also true. And I have an idea how to prevent the same thing from happening in our court case. I don't think it will, but it wouldn't hurt to have some kind of insurance."

"Insurance?" asked Julian dubiously.

"What we need is to get the whole thing broadcast. That way, nobody would dare flout procedures. Everything would have to be seen to be above board. So, what we need is a tame journalist who will help us out. Convince the FNS that the case is big enough news to warrant the air time and bandwidth."

"Julian knows a journalist," offered Sisko.

"Do you?" asked Hessayon.

"Yes, sir," answered Julian, "but I wouldn't call her tame."

"Contact her, anyway, and see if she'll help us, or if she can put us in touch with anyone who will."

Julian nodded.

"Back to my previous question," said Hessayon. "Were you being punished for what you had done, or for what you are, and therefore what you might do in the future? If all Augments have personality flaws, if they are all prone to violence or megalomania, then preventing you from practicing medicine might seem like a reasonable precaution."

"But Julian doesn't show any of those tendencies!" objected Sisko hotly.

Hessayon leaned forward and wagged a finger at Sisko. His eyes twinkled. "I said 'if', Captain. Now do you see why we have to challenge received wisdom before we do anything else?"

Julian found himself nodding, and he saw that Sisko was doing the same.

"How can we do that?" asked Sisko.

"I have an idea," said Hessayon. "Are you familiar with the scientists from Moab 4?"

Julian shook his head at the same time that Sisko said, "No."

"I'm not surprised. I don't think it's something Starfleet would want widely known. It's certainly been hushed up. The only reason I know about it at all is that an old friend of mine served on the Enterprise, and she happened to mention something about it last time she was in town."

Hessayon summarised the story of how the Enterprise had stumbled across a colony of genetically engineered humans. The society had been created to be perfect, with each member being designed to fulfil a particular role. Yet, almost two dozen scientists left their colony, choosing to walk away from perfection, because they realised that the imperfect human society the colony's founders had left behind had made more progress than their own.

The scientists had been allowed to join the Federation. They'd been allowed to exercise the right to choose that was denied Julian, and they'd been allowed to work unrestricted, to the limits of their genetically engineered abilities.

"If the Moab 4 scientists are allowed those freedoms," Hessayon said, "why aren't you? Given that precedent, Starfleet can't argue that it is because you are enhanced. We can use that argument to show that they are discriminating against you, specifically. The Federation is not applying the law in a consistent manner, so the legal situation can have no real relevance in your case. Moreover, we can argue that Starfleet has been fully cognizant of a number of years that the current medical orthodoxy surrounding genetic enhancement cannot be supported by the facts."

Julian and Sisko stared. Julian couldn't believe what he was hearing. Could this possibly be true? But, before he could ask for more information, Hessayon had moved on.

"Another thing. There was a landmark case a few years back, where a JAG officer ruled that the android officer on the Enterprise, Commander Data, couldn't be summarily transferred or forced to submit to potentially dangerous procedures. She ruled that he had the right to choose. As things stand, you don't. But we can use that case as precedent. The defence in that case argued that Data was a machine and had no rights. You're not a machine, but your legal position is similar. Given what has been done to you so far, I think we can argue that Intelligence's plans for you are just as dangerous."

"You think so?" said Julian.

"You don't? Data was granted the right to refuse a transfer that would require him to undergo dangerous procedures because he _might_ be sentient, and all sentient beings have rights. Well, nobody can deny that you _are_ sentient. Therefore, the same rights should be extended to you." Hessayon paused. Then he said, "It would really help to know exactly what happened in that holosuite."

"I take it that you've had no luck with that—what's it called—request to produce?" said Sisko.

"No. At first, your Commander Roughsedge said there weren't any records. Then she said the records had been destroyed."

"So, no evidence."

"They say not. But the more they say there isn't any, the more I want to know what happened. I've tried putting in a formal request to Admiral Fischer's office, as the Head of Starfleet Intelligence. I'm still waiting to hear back."

-=o=-

Today's was the first task-force-slash-project-team-slash-they-never-had-figured-out what-kind-of-group-they-were-had-they? meeting since Hessayon had filed the petition against Starfleet and had sent the formal request to produce evidence to Intelligence. Sisko was certain that Fischer had to know about both by now.

As Sisko didn't want to bring either topic up, he made sure that he found a seat as far away from Fischer as he could. However, that didn't stop him from feeling the admiral's presence. Sisko was sure that he could feel Fischer's eyes on him, even when the admiral seemed to be looking the other way. Either Fischer had eyes in the back of his head, or Julian's paranoia was catching.

Sisko and Fischer weren't the only people on edge. To begin with, Sisko wondered whether he was transferring his emotions onto McCauley, and if he was reading too much into her behaviour. However, as he watched her, he could see her nervousness in her twitchy fidgeting and in the way she darted occasional glances both at him and at Fischer.

The fly wasn't helping Sisko's mood, either.

The fly had come in through one of the open windows. Too stupid to realise that it could simply leave the same way it had entered, the fly bumped its body against walls, light fittings and glass. That and its relentless buzzing were wearing away at Sisko's patience.

The fly's buzzing found a counterpoint in Zontak's droning voice.

Buzz. Thunk. Buzz, buzz, thunk, thunk, buzz...

"It isn't my fault that the FNS hasn't picked up on any of our news releases this week," intoned Zontak.

Buzz. Thunk, thunk, buzz.

"He's right," said Petterson, backing his colleague up. "We can't force the FNS—or anyone else—to run our stories. All we can do is produce the news releases and invite the media outlets to use them."

Buzz. Thunk.

"Perhaps," suggested Sisko, more sharply than he'd meant to, "if we actually did something, rather that recycling the same old platitudes and clichés—"

"_Do_ something?" interrupted Ross. "We _are_ doing something. That's why we're all here."

"I'm simply suggesting," said Sisko, "that if we had something other than words to show for our efforts, maybe then the FNS would feel that it had something new to report on."

Buzz, buzz.

_Thwack!_

All heads turned towards the sound.

"Got him!" crowed Fischer, and he triumphantly held up his right hand.

McCauley looked revolted, and Sisko wondered what upset her the most: that Fischer had killed the fly with his bare palm in the first place, or that he'd thought it appropriate to proudly wave the flattened corpse around for them all to see.

Everyone, unable to tear their eyes away from him, watched as Fischer got up and walked over to the replicator, ordered a damp cloth, and then nonchalantly wiped his hand clean.

As Fischer sat down again, Ross cleared his throat a couple of times and then picked up the threads of the discussion. "And what, exactly, do you suggest we do?" he asked, pointedly looking at Sisko.

Sisko suppressed a sigh. They'd been here before, and he could predict how the rest of the discussion would go. He would suggest something, Nechayev would listen, Ross would scoff, and Fischer would veto. Nonetheless, Sisko played along, albeit with less patience than he'd managed on previous occasions. "Battle exercises," he said, "Manoeuvres close to disputed borders—"

"Such as close to the Bajoran wormhole," said Fischer. "Captain Sisko's suggestion has merit."

"It does?" said Sisko, taken by surprise. Fischer's positive reaction was as unexpected as it was new.

"Since when?" asked Ross.

"Captain Sisko has a point," said Fischer. "We _have_ done a lot of talking, and our work here is losing impact. Maybe we should try a new approach, and who better to lead it than Captain Sisko, himself? I move that Captain Sisko returns to Deep Space Nine, where he can make a show of demonstrating the fleet's preparedness."

"We need Sisko here," said Zontak.

"Do we?" countered Fischer. "Or is he simply a nice addition? Someone to show that we're taking the views of frontline officers into account? I think Captain Sisko would be of more use back on his space station. He knows what we need, so he's ideally qualified to orchestrate some war games."

A month ago, Sisko would have said the same thing. But now?

Everything Fischer said was true, but...

Fischer had never supported Sisko before, so why the sudden about-face? Why now? It was almost as though Fischer wanted to get rid of him.

Oh.

Of course Fischer wanted Sisko out of the way!

With Sisko back on Deep Space Nine, Julian would have no Advocate...no protection...and the court case would fall apart.

Sisko needed a way to resist Fischer's suggestion, and he needed it now! If only Sisko had kept his mouth shut!

Petterson spoke up. "Commander Zontak and I considered this option in more detail after we discussed it the last time. We concluded that it would be ineffectual."

Sisko held his breath.

"Oh?" said Nechayev. "How so?"

Petterson said, "We analysed the amount of media coverage given to previous military exercises, as well as the ratings those few stories that were published actually achieved. Simply put, neither the media nor the public were interested, and their interest lessened the further way the exercises were from Earth or other major Federation worlds. So, even if we're not getting the coverage we'd like at the moment, we almost certainly would get even less coverage if we went down the alternative route."

Sisko had never had much time for Commanders Petterson and Zontak but, just at that moment, he could have hugged them.

"I see," said Nechayev. "In that case, Sisko, you stay. For now, anyway."

Sisko nodded, put on his best poker face, and said, "Aye, sir."

-=o=-

The meeting continued unproductively until its allotted three hours finally drew to a close.

As he heading out of the building, Sisko found himself sharing a turbolift with Ensign McCauley. Again she was fidgeting. Then, suddenly, loud with nerves, she said, "Captain?"

"What can I do for you, Ensign McCauley?"

She shifted her weight uneasily from foot to foot, then she stopped the turbolift and said, "Someone left this for you at the front desk." She reached into a pocket and pulled out a data chip, which she held out to Sisko.

Sisko raised his eyebrows. "What is it?"

She didn't answer. Instead, she restarted the 'lift.

"Do you know who left it there?"

"I..." She straightened her shoulders. "No, sir."

Sisko didn't quite believe her. Cautiously, carefully, he pocketed the chip, and they completed their journey in silence.

-=o=-

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

My apologies for references to dubious maths and statistics in this chapter. My only defence is that I don't think I suggested anything worse than the show did!

In case anyone cares, the two TNG episodes referred to here were _The Measure of a Man_ (season 2, episode 9) and _The Masterpiece Society _(season 5, episode 13).

As always, thank you for your interest in this story. Particular thanks if you have favourited, are following, or have reviewed. I know that I keep saying it, but I'm still not sure that I say it enough: I really appreciate your comments and support.

**Next week:** Julian, Sisko and Hessayon finally find out exactly what happened in that holosuite...


	24. Chapter 24

**Warnings for violence and vomit in this chapter, as well as unlikely things done with a phaser.**

-=O=-

**Chapter Twenty-four**

Shiva Ghazi glared at Samil Fahid and said, "I want you to tell me why my daughter is 'helping the police with their inquiries'."

Fahid resisted the urge to flinch and stood his ground. He had seen Ghazi angry before, but he'd never had the full force of Ghazi's wrath pointed directly at him. "I can't tell you, not if you want to protect your reputation."

"So there is something going on, then."

"I didn't say that," said Fahid.

"But you implied it."

"If there were, it would be safer for you if you didn't know anything about it. Plausible deniability, and all that."

Ghazi stared at his son-in-law, and then he said, "Get out of my sight. And don't come back until you've got this...fiasco...whatever it is...sorted out."

-=o=-

Julian eyed Hessayon's desk, looking for somewhere to put his coffee mug amongst the mountain of PADDs. He gave up the attempt as a bad job and resigned himself to nursing the mug in both hands.

Today, all the PADDs related to Julian's case. Julian wasn't sure whether to be encouraged or taken aback by this sign of industry. The only thing he was certain of was that the mountain of PADDs made him acutely aware of the magnitude of the task in front of them.

"A judge has been assigned to your case," Hessayon informed them. "His name's Isador Momoh."

The name meant nothing to Julian. From the blank look on Sisko's face, Julian gathered that Sisko hadn't heard of Momoh either.

"I used to know him quite well," elaborated Hessayon. "At one time, we were drinking buddies. These days, though, I know him a lot better by reputation."

"And his reputation is...?" asked Sisko.

"He works hard." A reminiscent smile played around Hessayon's lips for a moment. "He used to play hard, too. But then he met Mariah and he married into an unfashionably large family. Last I heard, he'd given up the drink, had taken up golf, and was just about to become a step-grandfather for the sixth time."

"What is his reaction to Julian likely to be?" asked Sisko.

"I don't know. But it doesn't matter. He won't let his personal beliefs colour his professional ones. Professionally, he prides himself on his impartiality, so I think he'll give us a fair hearing before he makes a decision."

"Good," said Sisko. "Right, Julian?"

Julian concentrated on what the mutants had said about the power of positive thinking, and he tried to sound confident as he said, "Right, sir."

"There are a couple of other things that I need to tell you," said Hessayon.

"Yes?" prompted Sisko.

"As soon as Admiral Fischer heard about the case, he started trying to put together a petition of his own."

Shocked, Julian asked incredulously, "Can he do that?"

Hessayon tried to sound reassuring. "He can try, but I don't think he'll get very far. He's petitioning against the JAG, arguing that Bennett overreached his authority when he made the deal. He wants the deal overturned and the full weight of the law applied to you."

Julian's immediate reaction was alarm, but it quickly gave way to something more confused. "Why? That makes no sense. If he wins that case then I won't be allowed to work for him. He might as well let me refuse the transfer now."

"Good point," said Hessayon. "I think it's a bluff so that we'll drop our case. I think he's betting that you will decide to transfer to Intelligence rather than risk losing everything."

"Huh," groused Julian. "To be honest, I think losing everything might be preferable to working for Fischer. Not that I want to lose," Julian added hastily. "I want to win."

"Good," said Hessayon, sounding pleased and reassured by Julian's commitment to the case. Hessayon continued, "I think Fischer's actions work in our favour."

"How so?" asked Sisko, saving Julian from having to ask his own question.

"No matter what Fischer's actual reasons are, we can make it look as though he is deliberately targeting Julian. It reinforces our case of prejudice."

Julian nodded. He thought for a moment, then he said, "You said there were two things... What's the other?"

"Oh. Yes. Starfleet has employed a civilian lawyer to represent it."

"Not someone from the JAG?" asked Sisko.

"No," said Hessayon. "It makes sense, really. After all, the JAG is cited in our petition. It's neater to have someone who isn't directly involved in the case."

"Do we know anything about him? Her?"

"Her," said Hessayon. "Her name is Adalet Yilmaz."

Julian frowned, then said, "I think I've heard of her."

"That's quite possible," said Hessayon.

"She's quite a high profile lawyer, isn't she?" asked Julian.

"Should we worry?" asked Sisko, doing his utmost not to sound concerned but somehow, as a result, managing to sound even more concerned than he might have done otherwise.

Hessayon shook his head. "I don't think so. She's able enough, but I suspect that her reputation is...somewhat exaggerated."

"Oh?"

"Don't worry. I won't underestimate her. She'll fight to win, and she's ruthless. But she picks her cases for the celebrity they give her, not because she actually believes in the causes she's fighting for. However, I'm too old to be intimidated by her, and she's not old enough to have learned to pick her battles carefully." Hessayon turned towards Julian and said, "Remember, no matter what you've been taught over the years, we have right on our side, and that's a powerful advantage to have."

Hessayon waited until Julian had nodded an acknowledgement before he moved on. Then he glanced at Sisko and said, "Now, about that data chip your Ensign McCauley gave you—and, by the way, I'd love to know how she got her hands on that. As I believe you already know, it was a recording of a holoprogramme; I've therefore taken the liberty of reserving a holosuite." He stood up and added, "So, if you'll both follow me..."

Hessayon led them to the nearest turbolift, which he ordered to take them up to the seventeenth floor. Once there, Hessayon guided them around a couple of corners before coming to a halt next to a large set of double doors. Hessayon identified himself, loaded the programme, and waited for the computer to invite them to enter.

The holosuite's doors opened to admit them. Hessayon gestured with his right hand for Sisko and Julian to enter before him. Then the doors slid shut behind them and disappeared.

Julian looked around. He felt uneasy, and his unease segued into dread as he took in the details of their surroundings. The faux barracks, which were currently empty, were just as he remembered. He wandered around, too restless to stand still, and he found himself brushing the walls lightly with his fingertips. Then, as soon as he realised what he was doing, he jerked his hand back.

Being back in the barracks aroused a plethora of bad memories. There was the memory of the holosuite, itself, but that was underlain by the echoes of the real Dominion prison. Disjointed images ignited in his head. Flashes of faces, echoes of pain and noise and voices flitted through his mind, and he shivered, because the yellow people were back.

Julian was vaguely aware of Sisko and Hessayon talking to each other. Then they were looking at him. Sisko walked over and touched his arm. "Julian?"

How many times had Sisko said his name?

"Julian? Are you all right?"

Julian pulled himself together and nodded. "I'm fine," he lied, and he was sure that Sisko knew he was lying. However, perhaps because he'd managed to answer at all, Sisko accepted his answer.

A set of doors appeared. These weren't the real doors that Julian and the others had entered by, but the ones in the programme, which acted as entrance and exit to the dormitory. Commander Roughsedge came in, followed closely by two men in the uniforms of security officers. The taller of the two had something slung carelessly over his shoulder, and Julian started when he recognised that the something was himself. He winced as he saw and heard hologram-Julian's head crack against the door jam.

Hessayon, Sisko and Julian stepped aside to allow the holograms to pass.

Roughsedge said, "Put him down there," and pointed to one of the beds.

With all the care someone might give to a sack of uridium ore, the taller man dumped Julian onto the mattress. "Bastard's heavier than he looks," he grumbled. "Why are we bothering with this piece of—?" The rest of the question was lost as he kicked the bed's leg, pushing the frame against the wall with a metallic clang.

"Orders," said Roughsedge brusquely.

"Whose orders?"

"Whose do you think?"

"The admiral?" suggested the shorter man.

"Ol' Fish Face, is interested in him, then?" said the taller man.

"Yes," agreed Roughsedge. "But don't you ever let Fischer hear you refer to him as Fish Face."

The taller man tried but failed to look contrite as he said, "Of course not, Commander. What's the admiral's interest, anyway?"

"That's no concern of yours," said Roughsedge repressively. "It's strictly need to know. And you don't. Not at the moment, anyway."

The taller man didn't look happy about being kept in the dark, but he obviously knew better than to protest out loud.

Together, Roughsedge and her two sidekicks looked dispassionately at the crumpled heap on the bed. "What now?" asked the shorter man.

"Now? We wait. Let's go get a cup of tea. We can watch from the lab."

Sisko glanced towards Hessayon and Julian and asked, "Lab?"

Hessayon shrugged slightly, while Julian said doubtfully, "Dr Tsonga's lab?"

"You still think that Tsonga might have been involved?" asked Sisko.

"Not necessarily," said Julian, still sounding doubtful, "but I spent a lot of time in that lab. And, since I'm in here, I'm guessing it would have been available. Plus, someone had to have helped set this scenario up. The obvious candidates are Tsonga or one of his team."

Sisko nodded and let the topic drop. They turned their attention back to the recording.

"If the doctor's right," Roughsedge was saying, "it'll be quite a while before he wakes up. And the drug should be at peak effectiveness by the time he does."

"What did you give him?" asked the shorter man.

"Kenfitamol, mixed with a strong sedative."

"Kenfitamol? I thought that was banned," said the taller man. He sounded gleefully curious.

"I think the correct term is 'restricted'," said Roughsedge. "Its use is regulated."

Julian interjected, explaining to Sisko and Hessayon. "Only licensed medical practitioners can administer kenfitamol. Even then, there are very strict guidelines regarding its use. Treatment has to be countersigned by at least one other doctor, who also has to be present when the drug is administered. Roughsedge shouldn't have been able to get her hands on any."

"She mentioned a doctor," mused Sisko. "I wonder which one."

Julian also wondered, but he wasn't sure that he wanted to know the answer. How would he feel, if he found out that someone he'd worked with had knowingly released the kenfitamol to be used on him?

Roughsedge and the two men left, and Hessayon, Sisko and Julian found themselves alone with the unconscious hologram.

Sisko tilted his head towards the figure on the bed and said, "You don't look very comfortable."

"No," agreed Julian. "Just as well I'm unconscious, really."

Hessayon spoke to the air. "Computer: fast forward times ten."

Hessayon quickly grew impatient. He turned to Julian and asked, "Do you have any idea how long you were unconscious?"

Julian shook his head.

Hessayon and Sisko briefly discussed the merits of skipping forward, but decided not to, fearful that, if they did, they might miss something important. Instead, Hessayon ordered the computer to speed up its fast forwarding.

According to Julian's calculations, seven hours were eaten up in fourteen minutes before hologram-Julian began to stir.

"Computer: pause!" demanded Hessayon. "Resume at normal speed."

They'd overshot their mark, and hologram-Julian was on his feet, looking around. Hessayon ordered the programme to reverse to the point where hologram-Julian began to wake up.

Julian, Sisko and Hessayon watched as the hologram slowly blinked his eyes open. An expression of automatic and abject terror appeared on his face, but the expression quickly slipped into something more thoughtful. The hologram's eyes flitted around the room.

Julian recalled how he had noted and catalogued each and every difference between the simulation and his memories of the camp, and he watched as the hologram explored the bedding with his hands, sniffed at the sheets, and then looked around the room again.

As Julian watched his counterpart, and as his memories played out alongside the recording, he felt as though he was suffering from a bizarre kind of double vision or an extreme case of déjà vu.

Across the room, the hologram closed his eyes.

"What are you doing now?" asked Sisko, pointing at Julian's double.

Julian glanced at Sisko, then looked back at the hologram. "I'm trying to figure out how I got here," he said, remembering.

Sisko nodded.

Hologram-Julian staggered to his feet and began to explore the room more closely.

Together, Sisko, Julian and Hessayon watched as hologram-Julian first tried his comm badge and then called for the computer controls.

"You thought you were in a holoprogramme, then?" asked Hessayon.

"I wasn't sure," said Julian, "but it seemed likely." He shrugged. "I knew the prison was a fake, although, at this point, I still wasn't certain whether I was in a holoprogramme or a reconstruction. But I calculated that it would have taken less time and resources to write a programme than to build something physical from scratch."

"That's still a lot of trouble to go to," said Sisko. "It must have taken them a while to put everything together."

Hologram-Julian sat back down on the mattress. Then he lay down and closed his eyes.

"You went back to sleep?" said Hessayon, astounded.

Julian tried to justify his actions. "I reasoned that I wasn't in any real danger. I'd realised that Starfleet had captured me. I didn't think they'd do me any real harm, and I didn't have anything better to do. Plus, I hadn't been sleeping well and I was tired, and, on top of all that, my brain wasn't exactly going at full impulse."

Hologram-Julian slept for several more hours. This time Hessayon and Sisko were more patient, filling in the time as the recording fast-forwarded around them by making idle chitchat.

It crossed Julian's mind to wonder why nothing had happened in the programme during his initial period of consciousness. Maybe Roughsedge and her people had been distracted and hadn't noticed that he'd woken up, or maybe he hadn't been awake for long enough to trigger anything within the programme.

Finally, hologram-Julian blinked sluggishly as he dragged himself back to consciousness for a second time.

As he rolled over, the door to the barrack's room opened. Hologram-Julian dragged himself into a sitting position. His hair was tousled and untidy, and a dark five o'clock shadow graced his chin.

A Vorta and two Jem'Hadar approached.

The conversation Julian had had with them was one of the clearest memories he had of his time in the holosuite, so he didn't pay much attention to the recording. Instead, he focussed on Sisko and Hessayon as they watched events unfold.

Hessayon and Sisko turned towards the sound of the holosuite's doors opening. Julian turned, too, in time to see Roughsedge coming in. She was as angry in the recording as she was in Julian's memories.

Roughsedge had four people with her, none of whom had been with her earlier.

Julian gasped as he suddenly realised two things. First, he hadn't noticed or remembered any their faces after the holosuite incident. Second, he recognised two of them.

Alerted by Julian's reaction to the newcomers, Sisko snapped, "Computer: pause playback!" Then he spun around to face Julian and said, "What is it?" Next to Sisko, Hessayon took a step towards Julian.

"The two on the left," said Julian. "They were in the café."

Sisko looked momentarily blank. Hessayon said, "Which café?"

"On the day of my disciplinary hearing. At lunch. They were there."

Sisko nodded as he remembered. He turned back and looked more carefully. "You're right. And I think the others were at the tribunal, too."

"Oh?" said Julian.

"They stood by and didn't do anything when that mob attacked you."

"Oh," said Julian again, this time flatly. He hadn't noticed them at the time. But then, as he'd said not so long ago to Magnusdottir, he didn't notice or remember everything, and he'd had plenty of other demands on his attention that afternoon.

"Computer," said Sisko, "identify security personnel. Names and ranks."

The computer obliged, flashing up annotations as it spoke. "Lieutenant Garvin Sinart. Ensign Petrina Gray. Ensign Seth Johnson. Lieutenant Junior Grade Emmanuel Williamson."

"Computer: resume."

They watched as hologram-Julian talked to Roughsedge. Odd, thought Julian. He didn't remember his voice slurring; he sounded almost drunk.

Roughsedge was muttering half to herself and half to her underlings, saying something about best-laid plans and having to improvise and needing to consult with the admiral about what they should do next...

Either Julian had not been properly aware of the conversation in the first place, or his memories of the garbled conversation had vanished along with so much else that had happened in the holosuite. Apparently, he had been even more out of it then he'd realised.

Roughsedge appeared to reach some kind of conclusion. She said, "I'll be back in a minute." Then she hustled out of the holosuite.

When she returned, closer to ten minutes later rather than the one she'd promised, she was holding a hypospray in her hand.

Julian wrapped his arms around his chest to comfort himself against what he knew was about to happen. Sure enough, hologram-Julian protested and resisted the administration of more kenfitamol. Julian was peripherally aware of Sisko, concern etched on his face, glancing several times in his direction.

Hessayon made a few incoherent grunts of shock as he watched hologram-Julian being forced into submission. They could see hologram-Julian's naked terror, the horror in his eyes, the scattering of his intelligence, and then his collapse into another period of unconsciousness.

Time passed. Roughsedge and her people milled around as Roughsedge swore and complained about the delay and the inconvenience. Then, following her lead, they left, muttering about food and caffeine.

-=o=-

Roughsedge and the others came back as hologram-Julian began to wake up again.

Hologram-Julian's head lolled. He blinked owlishly and frequently, trying to make sense of what was happening.

Hessayon, Sisko and Julian watched as two of the security officers pulled hologram-Julian to his feet and then held him upright while the others punched him. Julian heard his holographic counterpart grunt and cry out in pain and ask, over and over again, "Why are you doing this? Why?"

Roughsedge watched her underlings for a while, then, satisfied, she said, "Do what you want to him. Just remember, no lasting damage."

Sinart sniggered. "Don't kill him, you mean."

"Don't do anything that'll leave any kind of permanent damage or that we can't fix." With that, she walked away and headed out of the holosuite.

Julian watched what happened next with sick fascination. He'd told Sisko that the gaps in his memory were unsettling. Now those gaps were being filled, but the answers he was finding were in their own way every bit as disturbing as the gaps had been.

Hologram-Julian looked completely disoriented, but from the expression on his face, the deluge of insults was hitting their mark anyway.

"Nip!" "Freak!" "Iq!" "Monster!" "Abomination!"

Julian had been assaulted and insulted elsewhere, but few of his other experiences came close to this. As the assault progressed, hologram-Julian retreated into his own head, becoming less and less responsive. His attackers continued, slow to register the change.

Hologram-Julian clamped his hands over his ears, but from the way he shook his head and mewled, it was obvious that he couldn't block the insults out. He squeezed his eyes shut. He looked pathetic. Lost. He was distraught and incoherent, conscious but barely aware. Yet the Starfleet officers continued to insult, hit, spit at, and punch him.

Hologram-Julian fell to the ground.

He was crying, and screaming, and tears and snot were streaming down his face. He cried out... "Kukie! Kukalaka!"

He curled himself tightly into a ball, and he wrapped his arms over his head in a futile attempt to protect himself.

The Starfleet officers kicked his ribs and his back, and Julian was sickened to hear his own screams and moans over the shouted obscenities and insults that were being hurled at him.

Then a kick landed on hologram-Julian's skull with an audible thud. His screams cut off abruptly and his body went limp as consciousness fled.

Sinart looked down at the crumpled body at his feet, sniggered, and said, "Anyone fancy a coffee?"

There was a chorus of assent, and the four officers exited the holosuite, leaving hologram-Julian lying on the ground.

-=o=-

Hologram-Julian's attackers came back eventually. They slapped him, trying to wake him up. They shouted. Then they resorted to hyposprays.

Finally hologram-Julian began to stir, and the assault resumed.

After a while, just as Julian's assailants seemed to be beginning to flag or to lose interest in their actions, Sinart said, "I've got an idea." There was a glint in his eye that boded ill.

Julian frowned. He had had hazy recollections of being kicked and punched and yelled at, but there was something about Sinart...something that hovered just below the surface of his memories, struggling to break through. He could feel the skin on the back of his neck begin to prickle.

Sinart reached for, and drew, his phaser.

Ensign Gray frowned. "Sir, no permanent damage, remember," she said, "and there's no fun to be had in just stunning him."

Sinart's lips twisted into a cruel parody of a smile. "Ever seen a phaser fired at close quarters?"

Gray shook her head. "No," she said, loading the single syllable with avid curiosity.

"Then you are in for a treat!" He nodded to Johnson and Williamson. "Hold him, and let me have one of his hands."

Johnson and Williamson hurried to comply. Hologram-Julian tried to scoot away from them, but he merely managed to back himself into a corner. Although he was trapped, he still tried to fend them off. However, his movements were weak and uncoordinated, and he was soon held fast in the grips of the two men.

Sinart moved forwards. He touched the phaser to Julian's little finger. He pulled the trigger.

Hologram-Julian's screams echoed around the room, bouncing off the walls.

When the screams began to die away, Sinart explained to Gray what he had done. "A phaser on stun will only 'stun' a target if it hits the central nervous system. If you're careful... If you chose your target area carefully, you can avoid the CNS, and there's no stun. Just pain. At close quarters, even on stun, a phaser shot can hurt like hell. And it leaves no permanent marks. See?"

Gray leaned forward. She nodded.

"They don't teach you that in weapons class, do they?" said Johnson conversationally.

"Show me again?" suggested Gray.

Julian felt something twisting inside him. He felt disoriented and dizzy. He barely heard when Sisko, appalled, gasped, "My God, Julian! Why didn't you tell me?"

Julian's voice was thin, high-pitched and thready, and it didn't feel as though it belonged to him. "I didn't know."

He watched, unable to tear his eyes away, as Sinart worked his way through each of hologram-Julian's fingers in turn. Julian winced and felt as though he wanted to leap out of his skin as his holographic self screamed and screamed and _screamed_. His tormentors moved on to his knees and stomach, and then—

Julian's world reeled as he remembered what had happened—what was going to happen—next.

Sinart laughed gleefully. "Watch this!" he crowed, and he moved the phaser between hologram-Julian's legs.

Julian felt the full force of the remembered horror, repugnance and pain, and he said, "I think I'm gonna be sick!" He shouted, "Computer: doors!" bolted, and, while they were still opening, he plunged into the corridor beyond.

Behind him, he heard hologram-Julian scream louder than ever, a wail of unadulterated agony.

Julian slammed a shaking hand against a computer panel and demanded, "Tell me, where's the nearest bathroom?"

The computer gave him directions in slow—painfully slow—tones. Julian swallowed convulsively, held his hand to his mouth as he gagged, and, as soon as the computer had given him the information he needed, he staggered on.

-=o=-

Julian ran into the toilet stall and sank to his knees. Sweet saliva flooded his mouth, and he could feel his stomach clenching. He held his head over the bowl and grasped its sides.

His thoughts whirled.

It was them. They were the yellow people. How had he not realised it before?

He hadn't realised because he'd known what to expect from the drug. He hadn't understood what his subconscious had been trying to tell him when it had populated his dreams with surreal representations of the mustard-clad intelligence officers. Plus, whenever the yellow people had intruded on his waking moments, they'd always been triggered by words he'd heard or by the sight of the personnel, themselves. He could see that all too clearly now.

God! It was all so obvious! The drug might have led to his initial amnesia and confusion, but it hadn't been causing his sleeping and waking dreams. That had been his memories trying to resurface.

And now...they had.

No wonder he'd reacted so strongly to the notification of his transfer orders. No wonder he'd been having nightmares. Everything made sense, and the reality, the remembered pain of what had been done to him, came crashing down.

He heaved and heaved and _spewed_.

Finally, he sank back against the sides of the stall, not confident enough that his vomiting fit was over to leave. His stomach hurt and his mouth tasted foul. He could feel panic coursing through every artery, vein and capillary of his body and crawling across his skin. His heart thudded.

He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms tightly around them, curling himself into the smallest, tightest ball he could. He bowed his head and self-indulgently let a wave of misery wash over him, and that was how Sisko and Hessayon found him.

"Julian?" called Hessayon gently, as he and Sisko entered the bathroom.

Sluggishly, he turned his head to face them, his eyes seeking out first Sisko and then Hessayon. "I didn't want to work for Intelligence before. I didn't know why. Not really. But now... Now I do. And I can't. I can't!"

Sisko held out his hand.

Julian stared at Sisko.

Sisko flapped his hand in invitation. Julian eyed it, still undecided.

"C'mon, Julian. Come out of there."

Julian slowly unfurled himself and let Sisko help him to his feet.

Once outside the stall, Julian let go of Sisko and, on his own, he lurched across to the washbasins. He turned on a tap, lowered his head and washed out his mouth. Then he splashed his face with water.

Over his head, Sisko and Hessayon picked up the threads of an argument they'd clearly started before they'd found him. "Why go to all that trouble, just to beat him up! What the hell was the point of it all? I want answers, dammit. I want to know why!" said Sisko.

"So do I, Captain," snapped Hessayon. "But that _isn't_ my main concern. My priority, now we know what happened, is to protect Julian and to make sure that it can never happen again. That means making damn sure that we win the case! Anything else can wait!"

Julian blotted the argument out and forced himself to concentrate. Gradually, he managed to control himself, and his favourite biofeedback mechanisms worked, calming and soothing him.

Then, when he was confident that he'd regained his self-control, he straightened up. He blinked calm, clear, intelligent eyes at Hessayon and Sisko.

Sisko, sounding angry with himself, was saying, "I should have recognised them before! Sinart and Williamson were both at the café with Roughsedge that time, and, later, after the hearing...they were all there! Now I remember that they were all here when Loews and I found him. So, how come I didn't realise it before?"

Julian blinked, picked up the threads of the conversation, and said, "My guess is that your mind was on other things."

"Julian?" asked Sisko, clearly surprised by the way he'd suddenly rejoined the discussion.

Julian forced himself to curve his lips into an unhappy, but hopefully reassuring, smile. "I'm all right, Captain, Professor."

"What happened just now?" asked Hessayon.

"It's a little trick I learned. Biofeedback. I can control some of my physiological reactions."

"Oh. That's...interesting. But that wasn't what I meant. What happened back in the holosuite?"

"The recording... It triggered memories and, when I remembered, I had to get out of there."

"And now? What do you want to do now? Do you want to see the rest?" Sisko asked. "You don't have to, if you don't want to."

"You're going to watch it, aren't you?" Julian asked, looking from Sisko to Hessayon and back again.

"Yes," said Hessayon. "Someone has to." Beside him, Sisko nodded.

"Then I..." Julian took a fortifying breath and said resolutely, "I need to know."

"Do you want to leave it for another time?" asked Hessayon, his concern obvious.

"No," said Julian. "I think I'd rather get it over with."

"Very well," said Hessayon. "But, remember, we can stop at any time. You just have to say the word."

Julian nodded jerkily, and he silently vowed that he would see the recording through to the bitter end, no matter what. He'd be damned if he was going to give in to any more weakness.

-=o=-

Hessayon and Sisko must have frozen the programme seconds after Julian had run off, because all the holograms were within inches of the positions they'd been in when he'd left, and hologram-Julian's face was still twisted in an agonised rictus, his mouth open in a silent scream.

"You're sure you're up to this?" said Sisko. He frowned as he looked into Julian's face.

"Yes," said Julian curtly, suddenly finding their concern oppressive. Then, more calmly, he said, "Yes, I'm sure."

With no joy, Hessayon said, "Computer: resume."

Hologram-Julian's agonised cries rent the silence.

Julian was aware of Sisko, who was standing close to him, darting worried glances in his direction.

The four torturers looked at hologram-Julian and laughed. They _laughed!_

Julian's fists bunched by his sides as Hologram-Julian's screams died into whimpers, and his eyes glazed over.

Excited, Gray asked, "Can I have a go?"

"Sure. Why not?" Sinart smiled at her and handed her the phaser.

Julian forced himself to keep watching the scene playing out in front of him.

The assault continued, and hologram-Julian gradually retreated into his own head. The less hologram-Julian responded to the pain that was being inflicted on him, the harder the others tried to get him to react. They slapped him. They threw water in his face.

Julian felt his nausea returning. He swallowed desperately, determined not to succumb again. He was aware of Sisko stepping even closer to him and then of a supportive hand resting on his shoulder.

Finally, Julian was offered respite as the four officers decided to take another break and, once again, they left hologram-Julian alone.

-=o=-

When, several hours of holoprogramme time later, the four officers came back, they tried to pick up where they had left off. It took a long time—longer than it should have done—for them to realise that something was wrong.

Seriously wrong.

There followed hasty debate and argument, which ended when Sinart ordered Johnson to fetch a tricorder.

Johnson ran off on the errand, came back, and, frowning, began to scan Julian. As Johnson's frown deepened into a perplexed scowl, the others began to witter in panic.

"He's faking!"

Johnson looked up, and his face was ashen as he said, "He's not faking. His brain activity is all over the place. And his pulse... These readings don't make any sense!"

"Get Dr Crane!" demanded Sinart.

"She's not in the building, and she's not answering her calls," said Gray, barely a minute later.

"Then...damn... Williamson, get Roughsedge," ordered Sinart.

"She'll kill us if she thinks we've gone too far," protested Williamson.

"Fischer'll do worse to us if he dies!" snapped Sinart.

Williamson blanched, whined and complained, and asked, "Why me? Can't one of ensigns go?" Eventually, however, scared, he ran out of the holosuite.

-=o=-

Julian watched as Roughsedge, looking cross, strode into the barrack room, Williamson trotting anxiously at her heels. Sisko and Loews followed close behind them.

As he listened to the conversations, Julian found himself watching hologram-Sisko carefully. He'd come into the holosuite wearing an expression of vague concern, but his expression quickly shifted to a more focussed worry blended with anger as he realised where he was. Then that anger metamorphosed into a deeper, more immediate, unease.

Julian saw hologram-Sisko's emotions transmit themselves to Loews, changing her uncomprehending curiosity to something darker and more urgent.

Roughsedge's animosity towards Sisko and Loews gave way to desperation, and she called for Loews's assistance.

When Loews crouched down to take tricorder readings, Julian positioned himself so that he could look over her shoulder. His mouth dropped open.

"Julian?" asked Sisko. "What is it?"

"I..." Julian struggled to speak. "I... How am I still alive?" He spun on his heel and stumbled a couple of steps away from the holograms. He wrapped his arms tightly around his chest again and looked down at the ground. He'd told Roughsedge... He'd warned her... The kenfitamol could have killed him. And, according to the tricorder readings, it almost had. Between the drug, the head injuries, and the strain on his heart...

But, even with all his medical knowledge and everything he'd experienced, he still hadn't realised just how close he'd come to dying...not until now.

Probably the only things that had kept him alive were Loews's prompt actions and a huge amount of dumb luck. He shivered. If Loews and Sisko had arrived even five minutes later...

He felt his mouth tighten into a rigid, angry line.

Intelligence had done this to him, and Julian felt a tight ball of righteous anger burning him from within. He made a silent vow to fight Fischer with everything he had. No way was he going to let Fischer win.

-=o=-

Several times during the following day's meetings, Sisko caught McCauley glancing furtively towards him. Each time their eyes met, she hastily looked away. The more it happened, the more he wanted to talk to her, because a suspicion he'd had was gelling into something approaching certainty. All he needed was final confirmation.

Thus, at the end of the afternoon, he lingered, taking time to gather his bits and pieces together, delaying his departure until McCauley had finished tidying the room up.

He fell into step with her as she left the building. Finally, when they were safely outdoors and out of anyone else's earshot, Sisko said, "Ensign? May I have a word?"

McCauley ground to a halt, and looked up at Sisko, her eyes wide and nervous. "What can I do for you, Captain?" she said.

"Come on. Let's walk together."

"You don't know where I'm heading."

"It doesn't matter. You lead, and I'll follow."

McCauley nodded uncertainly, then set off along the footpath.

When they were a generous hundred yards from the building, he said, "I wanted to ask you about that data chip you gave me."

McCauley almost missed a step.

"Nobody left it at the front desk for me, did they?"

McCauley tripped over her feet again. Then she recovered herself and picked up speed.

"Ensign!" Sisko called after her.

Reluctantly, McCauley slowed again, then she came to a stop. Without turning, she said, "Sir?"

Sisko moved in front of her, so that he could see her face. "It came from you, didn't it?"

She stared at him, her eyes wide with fear.

"Ensign, I'm not trying to cause trouble for you, but I need to know... Did it come from you?"

"Yes, sir," she said quietly.

"And, where did you get it from?"

She searched his face, and Sisko could see the exact moment when McCauley committed herself. She squared her shoulders and said, "I heard Admiral Fischer talking to Commander Roughsedge, and they were saying that they couldn't let anyone else see it. I knew it was important so..."

"So?"

"I snuck into Fischer's office, found and copied the recording."

"Don't get me wrong," said Sisko. "I appreciate what you did. But...why did you do it? You took a huge risk."

"I did it because...because...what they're doing...it's horrible! Have you seen that tape?"

"Yes," said Sisko sombrely.

"Then you understand. I don't know him—Bashir, I mean—but I've seen and heard the protestors, and nobody deserves that, whoever they are." She swallowed, and then she continued. "I told myself that it wasn't that big a risk. I mean, anyone who was in the holosuite that day would have known about the recording, so although I might be a suspect, I didn't think they would be able to tie it back to me. Not for definite." She took a deep breath, and then she said, "Captain. Like I said, I don't know Bashir, but... He's all right, isn't he?"

Sisko found himself smiling at her. "You're worried about him?" he asked.

She nodded.

"He's fine. Or, at least, he's as fine as he can be, under the circumstances."

McCauley smiled shyly and said, "Good."

-=o=-

Fahid had warned Ghazi that, if Ghazi wanted to protect his career and reputation, then he couldn't afford to know what was going on. Fahid had assumed that, as he was protecting Ghazi, his act of loyalty would be repaid in kind.

Fahid hadn't anticipated that Ghazi would be ruthless enough to cut him loose without a second thought, let alone that Ghazi would do the same thing to his own daughter.

Mei-Lin was under arrest, and the police were hunting for Fahid. More than that, they clearly knew where to look. That being the case, Fahid concluded that Mei-Lin had cut some kind of a deal and had talked. She had thrown him aside, putting her own needs and desires ahead of his, much as Amsha had done all those years before.

Amsha...his much loved, much hated sister.

He should have known...

Amsha had taught him that he couldn't trust a woman's love, but he'd believed Mei-Lin when she'd said she was different.

There had been a time, long ago, when Fahid would have laid down his life for Amsha. But she'd torn his heart to shreds when she'd left him behind so that she could be with her stupid husband. True, after she'd got married, she'd still come to visit, but it hadn't been enough to satisfy Fahid. Nothing could ever have been enough.

Then Amsha's simpleton of a son had been born, and Amsha's visits had become increasingly rare. Eventually, they'd stopped altogether.

Fahid's love for Amsha had twisted into resentment...bitterness...hate.

All these years later, he had found killing Amsha easy. It had brought him closure. It hadn't just been a necessity, it had been a pleasure.

He wished he'd managed to kill Julian Bashir when he'd had the chance, too.

Fahid had been so close to achieving his political ambitions. He'd cleared his way to power. Only Shiva Ghazi had stood between him and political influence, and Fahid had been happy to bide his time for just a little while longer. He had age on his side, and he knew he still had lessons to learn. But he'd only planned on waiting for another year or two, if that, and if Ghazi hadn't been ready to step aside by then, all it would have taken was another tragic accident.

Fahid was good at engineering those. Mei-Lin had taught him well, and he'd been an eager pupil.

It had only been a matter of time...

But then...

_Bashir..._

The name burned and stoked his anger.

Fahid's father surely knew someone who could get him safely away from Earth.

But before that, there was something he had to do.

_Bashir..._

His anger found purpose. The phaser in his hands was heavy and solid, and he smiled as he thought about what the weapon could do.

-=o=-

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

Thank you, as ever, for reading...and reviewing...and favouriting...and following...and, really, just for sticking with this story.

In response to a couple of guest reviews I've received this week, I'd just like to say the following. To the first guest reviewer: keep reading and talking, and one day you'll find someone who'll share all that excitement with you. To the second guest reviewer: No, no books. Maybe one day...

**NEXT WEEK: **The court case begins.


	25. Chapter 25

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

I'd like to make all my usual thank yous. Plus, I'd like to wave at the people who've decided to follow the story and me during the last week.

Thank you, all...and on with the story!

-=o=-

**Chapter Twenty-five**

When Julian and Sisko arrived at the San Francisco courthouse, they found Hessayon waiting in the foyer. "Ready?" he asked, as he stepped forward to greet them.

"Yes," said Julian, doing his best to sound confident. "Let's get this over with."

Sisko simply nodded.

Hessayon led the way through the building and into Judge Momoh's courtroom. Julian concentrated on ignoring the stares of the spectators as he walked to the petitioner's table and took a seat. Only after he'd settled himself did he pay proper attention to his surroundings.

Despite the room's antiquated grandeur and the FNS's technicians and recording equipment, Julian didn't find the courtroom nearly as imposing as the chamber that the MSB had used for his tribunal. Julian decided that had something to do with the lower ceiling, which made the courtroom feel almost cosy, and the soothing, rich browns of the wooden benches, pews, railings and wall panels.

Next to Julian, Sisko sat stiffly, and Julian understood that Sisko was at least as nervous as he was. The realisation that he might actually be more confident than Sisko felt oddly satisfying.

Behind them, the courtroom was filling up quickly, the noise level rising as more and more people came in. Included in the influx was the defence's lawyer, who took her place at her own table.

Julian tried not to be too obvious as he looked at her. Adalet Yilmaz was almost as tall as he was. In another reality, she would have been an Amazon warrior. Her cheekbones were high, her skin tanned, and her eyes intense. Her mouth wasn't made for smiling, and her black hair framed her face in a severe bob. Her eyebrows were thick, neat, dark and arched, giving her a permanently haughty expression. She appeared to be oddly ageless, although Julian knew her to be barely thirty-one.

Julian frowned when Admiral Fischer sat down beside her. Although Fischer had been named in the petition, Julian hadn't thought of him as being part of the defence team. Given that none of the other named witnesses were sitting there, Julian had to wonder whether Fischer's presence was normal. He made a mental note to ask Hessayon later.

Finally, when all the seats were full and would-be spectators were being turned away, the court officials closed the entrance at the back of the room. Then a door at the front of the courtroom opened.

Judge Isador Momoh had arrived.

A clerk called, "All rise!" and there was a thunderous roar of foot and chair scraping as everyone stood up.

Julian observed Momoh carefully as he took his place at the bench and signalled for everyone to sit. Momoh had a round face, a double chin, a broad nose, a large mouth and stern eyes. His skin, even darker than Sisko's, shone like burnished ebony under the ceiling lights. He exuded establishment.

Momoh said, "This hearing, convened on Stardate 50680.7, is to consider the petition submitted by Advocate Benjamin Sisko, on behalf of Julian Bashir." Momoh gestured towards Hessayon and said, "Counsellor... If you would care to make your opening statement?"

Hessayon stood up and, when he was sure that he had the full attention of everyone in the room, he began to speak. "When the facts about his genetic background were revealed, Starfleet, in the person of Judge Advocate General Rear Admiral Bennett, agreed a deal that purported to allow Lieutenant Julian Bashir to retain both his commission in the fleet and his medical practice." Hessayon paused and looked Momoh in the eye. Then he turned and picked out a couple of members of the public with whom he also engaged in eye contact before he continued. "The deal was brokered by Captain Benjamin Sisko and agreed to by Richard Bashir, the lieutenant's father. Subsequently, Richard and Julian Bashir complied in good faith with the terms and conditions of the agreement."

Hessayon pivoted lightly on the ball of his right foot so that he could look directly and sternly at the defence table. "The same cannot be said of Starfleet."

He turned back to Momoh and said, "The petitioners argue that Starfleet knowingly offered a deal that contained a number of loop-holes and inconsistencies. In saying that Lieutenant Bashir could retain his commission, the implication was that his continued employment would be recognisably similar to his past employment. Moreover, the retention of his commission implied that all the terms and conditions of employment would remain the same. It suggested that he would continue to be covered by all of Starfleet's rules and regulations, including those relating to transfer orders."

When Hessayon spoke again, he enunciated carefully and slowly, emphasising his words. "In practice, Julian Bashir has lost his commission, and the transfer being forced upon him is so far removed from his qualifications and experience that Starfleet requires he be retrained. We argue that it is so far removed from his previous occupation that it cannot be recognised in the terms of the deal. Moreover, Lieutenant Bashir has been told that he cannot refuse the transfer. He is not being treated in line with normal transfer procedures."

Julian glanced around the room, saw that Hessayon commanded rapt attention, and he found himself in awe of Hessayon's carefully calculated performance.

"In short," continued Hessayon, "Starfleet has consistently flouted its own employment practices in its dealings with Julian Bashir. More than that, we will show that the behaviours and manipulations of Starfleet personnel across different branches of the service indicate a culture of institutionalised prejudice against Julian Bashir. This prejudice has been evident also in the actions of specific individuals, actions that were condoned by their superior officers. This behaviour has manifested itself in physical and verbal assaults, contrary to the standards required of Starfleet personnel with respect to equalities and treatment of their peers."

Hessayon wound up his statement by saying, "The petitioners seek the following. First, they want a commitment from Starfleet that Starfleet will honour the conditions of the deal it struck. Second, Julian Bashir should be given the right to refuse the transfer to Intelligence, as well as any future transfer orders, in accordance with Starfleet policies and procedures. Thank you." He nodded first to Momoh and then again, when he turned around, towards the rest of the room. Finally, he returned to his seat.

-=o=-

Yilmaz stood up and walked in front of the defence table. She came to a stop and looked around, waiting for the room to fall silent. Then, sounding sorrowful, she began to speak. "You will hear a great deal about unfair treatment. The petitioners will tell you that Julian Bashir has been the target of bigots. More than that, the petitioners will claim that Starfleet as an organisation practices prejudice against the genetically enhanced. Starfleet. An organisation that actively seeks out new life and adopts the Vulcan concept of IDIC as its own." Her eyes widened in well-acted disbelief.

"Federation law, as it pertains to the genetically enhanced, allowed Starfleet to dismiss Bashir from its employ and to bar him from each and every one of its facilities. However, Starfleet chose not to do this. Instead, despite his genetic status, Starfleet has offered Bashir opportunities beyond anything normally permitted by law. Does this sound like an organisation with a pervasive culture of prejudice? I think not!"

As Hessayon's had been, Yilmaz's delivery was calculatedly measured. However, Julian didn't think that her performance was quite as polished as Hessayon's, and her relative lack of experience showed.

She said, "Maybe there are individuals in Starfleet who have protested against Bashir's continued employment. But Starfleet, as an organisation, has not. Individual prejudice and institutional prejudice are not the same thing. The defence will demonstrate that Starfleet has no case to answer in this matter." She moved back towards the defence table.

Out of the corner of his eye, Julian saw Hessayon nod to himself. "Short and to the point," he muttered.

Momoh waited until Yilmaz was seated back at her table, then he said to Hessayon, "You may call your first witness."

Hessayon stood and said, "I call Captain Benjamin Sisko."

Sisko rose to his feet, walked to the front of the room, and took his place on the witness stand. Then, following the clerk's instructions, he placed his hand on the palm reader and let the court's computer identify him. "Verified. Benjamin Sisko. Captain. Starfleet. Current assignment..."

Along with everyone else, Julian listened to the computer's recitation. However, other than where Sisko had been born, Julian learned nothing new.

Finally, the computer ceased its droning, and Sisko took the age-old oath to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

Momoh nodded at Hessayon and said, "You may proceed."

Hessayon got to his feet, rounded the petitioner's table again, and made his way to stand in the empty space between the judge's bench and the rest of the court. Then, focussing directly on Sisko, he asked, "Captain Sisko, please can you tell the court how you came to be Julian Bashir's Advocate?"

Sisko took a moment to gather his thoughts and then he said, "When the truth about Julian Bashir's genetic status was revealed, I contacted the JAG's office to ask whether anything could be done to keep him in Starfleet. Richard Bashir—Julian Bashir's father—and I suggested a deal to Rear Admiral Bennett, who agreed to it. However, the admiral told me that, if I wanted to keep Julian Bashir in the service, I would have to vouch for him."

"You agreed?"

"Yes."

"Did you, at that point, understand what you were agreeing to?"

Sisko inhaled deeply, then said, "No."

"Rear Admiral Bennett did not spell out what vouching, in the legal sense, meant?"

"No. All he said was that, if I wanted to keep Lieutenant Bashir under my command, I'd have to take responsibility. I took that to mean that I needed to give assurances as to his character."

"And you were happy to do that?"

"Yes. Of course."

Hessayon nodded. "At what point did you realise what you had actually committed yourself to?"

Yilmaz stood up. "Objection. Relevance?"

Hessayon turned to Momoh and said, "I wish to establish a pattern. Starfleet has consistently failed to keep either Julian Bashir or his Advocate informed about actions that directly concern them. Similarly, Starfleet has not consulted them about decisions affecting them. The pattern is consistent and pervasive, and supports our case that there is a culture of institutional prejudice throughout the organisation."

Julian thought he heard Yilmaz mutter something that might have been quite rude underneath her breath. Although he wasn't certain exactly what she said, he saw the way her lips moved, and the expression on her face spoke volumes.

Momoh pursed his lips slightly. "Objection overruled." He looked at Hessayon and said, "I'll allow your line of questioning...for now. But don't try my patience."

Hessayon acknowledged Momoh's caution with a curt nod. Then he turned back to Sisko. "So, Captain... When did you become aware that you had been made Julian Bashir's Advocate?"

"Not until quite some time later. Not until after the disciplinary hearing, here on Earth, when the Medical Standards Board took away the lieutenant's licence to practice medicine."

"And the circumstances of your discovery?"

"I asked Julian to explain about the laws affecting the genetically enhanced. He mentioned Advocacy, and the terminology struck a chord with me. I realised that vouch had a legal meaning I hadn't been aware of previously."

"Do you think you were tricked into accepting the role of Advocate?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Or maybe it was just an unfortunate miscommunication."

"Now that you are aware of your responsibilities as Advocate, are you happy to continue in that role?"

"In so far as I can help to safeguard Julian Bashir's interests, yes, I'm happy to continue. However—"

"However?"

"I do not believe that it is either fair or necessary. Anyone else would have the freedom to manage their own affairs. It seems...perverse...that Julian does not."

"'Freedom.' You believe that the Advocacy arrangement denies him the freedom to...?"

"To do much of anything, really."

"Moving on to Julian Bashir's transfer orders..." Hessayon turned back to the petitioner's table, picked up a PADD, and said, "I would like to submit copies of the original transfer orders and associated correspondence as petitioner's Exhibit A."

"Noted," said Momoh.

Hessayon turned back to Sisko and asked, "Did Starfleet copy you into any of the correspondence relating to Julian Bashir's transfer orders to Intelligence?"

"No."

"Did anyone consult you at all?"

"No."

"Even though you are Julian Bashir's Advocate and, therefore, should have been apprised of any and all decisions affecting him?"

"I had no correspondence or communication whatsoever with Starfleet in respect of the transfer orders."

"So, at what point did you become aware that Starfleet had ordered Julian Bashir's transfer to Intelligence?"

"When Julian, himself, told me that he'd received the orders. He said that he'd replied, declining the offer of a transfer and pointing out that the appeal against the MSB's ruling was still pending."

"What happened next?"

"Starfleet Intelligence informed Julian that he could not refuse the transfer. I suggested that Julian seek legal advice, and that—ultimately—brought us here."

"So, as Julian Bashir's Advocate, you object to the transfer?"

"Yes."

"Had you been consulted, you, too, would have resisted it?"

"Yes."

"You do not believe it to be in his best interests?"

"No. I do not."

"Why not?"

"Because he does not want to work in Intelligence and, even if he did, I do not think that the leadership or personnel in that branch of Starfleet would have any concern for his welfare."

Yilmaz was already halfway to her feet, her mouth opening with the first syllable of an objection on her lips, when Hessayon turned to Momoh and said, "This is a theme I will come back to, with other witnesses."

Momoh nodded, and Yilmaz sank back into her seat, apparently deciding not to protest, after all.

"Captain Sisko," said Hessayon. "For the record, can you confirm that you were one of the officers who removed Julian Bashir from a holosuite, where he had been held inside a programme that had been based on his experiences in a Dominion prison camp?"

"Yes. I can confirm that."

"What state was he in when you found him?"

"I can't give you the full medical details. However, I can tell you that he was suffering from an overdose of kenfitamol, and he'd been assaulted. We—Dr Loews and myself—took him to Starfleet Academy's hospital, where he received emergency care."

Hessayon nodded. "Thank you, Captain. At this point, I would like to submit Julian Bashir's intake and treatment records as petitioner's Exhibit B."

"Again, noted," said Momoh.

"Finally, Captain, again for the record, you filed the petition to this court on Julian Bashir's behalf, as his Advocate, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"And you fully support the case being brought?"

"Yes."

"Thank you, Captain. I have no further questions."

That was the easy part, thought Julian, and he braced himself for the onslaught of cross-examination. But, to his astonishment, Yilmaz didn't want to ask Sisko anything, and Momoh allowed Sisko to return to his seat at the petitioner's table.

-=o=-

Commander Magnusdottir took her place at the witness stand. As Sisko had done, she allowed the computer to identify her and to recite her biographical details. Then she took the oath.

"The computer has told us that you are a commander within the Judge Advocate General's office. Can you please be more specific about your current posting?" said Hessayon.

"I am in charge of the Public Perception and Prognostication Unit, colloquially know as the Triple-Ps."

"And what does the Public Perception and Prognostication Unit do?"

"We investigate, and try to anticipate, the results of any changes to the law. We look at the ramifications of changes to legislation, be they political or legal."

"And, one of the areas of law you've been looking at has been the legislation regarding the genetically enhanced?"

"Yes."

"Would I be correct in supposing that you are quite familiar with this area of law?"

"Yes."

"More so than most people, even than most lawyers?"

Magnusdottir said reluctantly, "I suppose so, yes. But that's not saying very much."

"Because nobody needs to know much about it, genetic enhancement being so...rare." He held up a hand. "You do not need to answer that. Suffice to say, you know enough to clarify a few matters for the court. Tell me. What is your understanding of an Advocate's role?"

"To manage the affairs of a genetically enhanced person."

"Why is that necessary?"

"Because conventional wisdom is that most genetically enhanced individuals suffer side effects as a result of the enhancement process, rendering them unable to manage their own affairs."

"The Advocate is there to protect the interests of a vulnerable individual. That's the crux of the matter, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"In your opinion, is Julian Bashir incapable or incompetent to manage his personal affairs?"

"My understanding is that he has the mental capacity and acuity to manage his own affairs, but he may not have the legal capacity to do so."

"In what way does he lack the 'legal capacity'?"

"The laws relating to the genetically enhanced are extremely restrictive. Julian Bashir is prevented by law from engaging fully in society. The restrictions placed upon him prevent him from being able to manage land, property, financial assets...legal affairs..."

"As evidenced by the need for Captain Sisko to petition this court on his behalf."

It wasn't a question, but Magnusdottir said, "Exactly," anyway.

Hessayon nodded and paused to signal a change in topic. Then he said, "In your own words, can you tell the court what Project Mendel is?"

Magnusdottir must have known that the question was bound to come up, but she cringed slightly anyway, then she tried to mask her discomfiture by sitting up straighter.

"Project Mendel," said Magnusdottir a fraction louder than was necessary, "is the code name for a project the Triple-P Unit set up to investigate society's likely reaction to any change in legislation relating to the genetically enhanced. Most specifically, it considered the possibility of an amnesty."

"Why did the Triple-Ps think it necessary to consider an amnesty?"

"Several reasons," said Magnusdottir. "The first was a thought-provoking argument a young medical student presented during an undergraduate law course at Starfleet Academy." Her eyes flicked in Julian's direction. "The second was intelligence coming from several non-aligned worlds that related to the numbers of Federation citizens seeking treatment. If the intelligence reports were to be believed, then there could be thousands of genetically enhanced people living clandestinely in the Federation. Third, there was the incident with the Moab 4 colony. Finally, all of these things had to be seen in the wider context of a landmark ruling about the rights of sentient beings."

Hessayon nodded, a carefully calculated movement that suggested he was considering her answers carefully. In reality, however, he had to have known everything she was going to say ahead of time.

"Can you tell the court about the Moab 4 colonists?"

Magnusdottir tilted her head slightly to one side. She outlined the story about how the Enterprise had found the Moab 4 colony and how a handful of colonists had chosen to join the Federation.

"And this concerned the Triple-Ps why?" asked Hessayon, when she was done.

"Two reasons," said Magnusdottir. "Firstly, the colonists were being allowed to do things that Augments should have been prevented from doing by law. Secondly, there was nothing...wrong...with them. They didn't fit the accepted profile of genetically enhanced people. So...was the profile wrong?"

Hessayon nodded. "Can you now explain to the court why the case of Lieutenant Commander Data—the landmark case you referred to—concerned you?"

"The commander is an android. Starfleet tried to order him to transfer from his posting aboard the USS Enterprise to a Commander Maddox at the Daystrom Institute, where Data would have been subjected to procedures that he believed might prove hazardous to his wellbeing. The case went to court, and the JAG officer who acted as judge ruled that, on the off-chance that Data was a sentient being, he had to be given the right of self-determination—the right to choose—whether or not to undergo the procedures."

"And this was relevant how?"

"If those rights came with sentience, then they also had to apply to anyone who is genetically enhanced. But the laws as currently set out do not accord the same levels of freedom to anyone who has been Augmented."

"In short, you found the laws as they related to the genetically enhanced to be increasingly in conflict with other legislation and case law. Is that correct?"

"Yes. That's correct."

"Thank you, Commander." Hessayon paced three steps to the left than two steps back to the right, his forefinger resting contemplatively against his lips. He stopped. Then, as if the thought had only just occurred to him, he said, "When did Project Mendel commence? I mean, the incident with Commander Data occurred some...eight years ago."

"We only became interested in that case afterwards."

"After what? The debate you mentioned? The Moab 4 incident?"

"Yes. Both things. They occurred around the same time."

"And that was about five years ago?"

"Yes."

"So, when did the JAG, in the form of the Triple-Ps, become interested in the...plight...of the genetically enhanced?"

Magnusdottir swallowed. "Some five years ago," she admitted.

"Five years ago. You had five years to prepare for a deal...five years to get all the details ironed out. And yet, you didn't. Would you care to explain that?"

"Because..." Her eyes twitched uncomfortably in Julian's direction. "Because, if we'd sewn up all the details, there would have been nothing for the public to react against."

"And you wanted to know how the public would react?"

"Yes."

"In short, Julian Bashir was an experiment to you?"

"Yes."

"You manipulated him to suit your own ends."

"Yes."

"No further questions."

Again, Yilmaz didn't ask anything. Julian had expected the court proceedings to be more...lively...and he felt disconcerted that Hessayon seemed to having everything his own way. Then again, Julian couldn't think of anything that Yilmaz should have asked, so maybe her silence made sense.

Momoh called for a fifteen-minute recess.

-=o=-

Julian went to the bathroom. He felt ridiculous because he wished that either Hessayon or Sisko had come with him. However, he would be damned before he would ask anyone to escort him to the potty.

Damn his stupid pride, though, because he felt exposed as he was forced to mingle with crowds of spectators, some of whom deliberately bumped into him. Others whispered insults and threats into his ears. He did his best to ignore everything, but he nonetheless chose to lock himself in one of the stalls for privacy and protection, and, once he'd safely barricaded himself in, he drew a deep sigh of relief. He told himself over and over that not all humans were like that, and that it didn't matter what strangers thought, so long as he had people like Sisko and Hessayon in his corner.

He waited until the last possible minute, by which time the crowds had almost entirely dissipated, before returning to the courtroom. As he headed back to the petitioner's table, he spotted Elizabeth Lilienfeld, who winked, and then he spotted Karen Loews, who waved, and, thanks to their tiny gestures of friendly support, he found himself feeling slightly better.

-=o=-

The closest Julian had ever come to meeting Rear Admiral Bennett had been the conversation he'd had with Bennett's hologram, back in Sisko's office. There, Bennett had been bathed in blue light, which had emphasised the whiteness of his hair. The light had also bleached the colour from his skin and made him look ethereal.

In the courtroom, Bennett's hair was silver and his skin looked pinkishly fair. He looked smaller than Julian remembered, yet somehow more substantial.

Hessayon and Bennett's paths must have crossed at some point, but Julian could see no recognition in either of their faces. Julian resolved never to play poker with either of them.

"Commander Magnusdottir has already told the court about Project Mendel, and about what it aimed to do," said Hessayon. "I don't intend to cover that ground again. However, I would like to know what part you played in all this." He paused for effect. He hadn't framed his words as a question, so Bennett didn't reply. He simply looked inscrutable as he waited for Hessayon to continue.

Hessayon nodded to himself, and then he said, "I'd like to clear something up at the outset. Accusations have been made in the media—and elsewhere—that you overreached your authority when you made the deal with Richard Bashir. Did you?"

"No," answered Bennett.

"The laws surrounding genetic enhancement are clear, and yet you had the power to strike a deal that seems to circumvent them. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"If, as you say, you had the authority to strike the deal, can you explain to the court where your authority comes from?"

"I struck the deal using the powers delegated to me in my capacity as Judge Advocate General." Then Bennett proceeded to cite Federation law, Acts, subsections and paragraphs in excruciating detail.

At the end of Bennett's recitation, Hessayon said, "Suffice to say, even if others do not like the fact that you struck a deal with someone guilty of illegal genetic engineering, you had the authority to do it?"

"Yes."

"Now... Moving on to the specifics of that deal..." Hessayon waved a PADD aloft for everyone to see. "I have here a summary of the deal, as described by yourself, and as set out in the news release that the JAG office gave to the FNS." Hessayon turned towards Momoh and said, "I wish to submit this as petitioner's Exhibit C."

"Noted," said Momoh.

Hessayon turned back to Bennett and continued his questioning. "Did the deal intend for Lieutenant Bashir to retain his posting and commission?"

"That was implied in the wording."

"That doesn't quite answer my question. Was the intent of the deal to enable the lieutenant to retain his posting and commission?"

"The deal was structured to make that possible."

"Possible. Not inevitable? Not definite? Not an absolute certainty? Just...possible?"

"Yes. Possible."

"Because there were holes in the deal?"

"Yes."

"And you knew about those holes, even if Richard Bashir and Captain Sisko, neither of whom are lawyers, and neither of whom were given time or opportunity to seek legal advice, did not?"

"Yes," said Bennett stiffly. "I knew."

Hessayon waited so that there was plenty of time for the full import of Bennett's admission to sink in. A second ticked by. And another. Then three more. Finally, he asked, "How did you communicate the details of the deal with Captain Sisko and Richard Bashir?"

"In conversation, via holographic communication."

"Essentially by word of mouth, then?"

"Yes."

"And, how was the deal's content communicated to Lieutenant Bashir?"

"Lieutenant Bashir's father told him that we'd struck a deal, and that he would go to prison for two years in exchange for the lieutenant's posting and commission. Beyond that, I assume that either Captain Sisko or his parents relayed the full details to him."

"So nothing was communicated through formal, legal channels?"

"No."

"That seems rather sloppy to me. Is that standard procedure in the JAG?"

"No."

"To sum up, then, you struck a deal, the conditions of which you knew to be full of legal holes and question marks. You failed to highlight any of the ambiguities and gaps in the arrangement you proposed, and you allowed Richard Bashir, Julian Bashir and Captain Sisko to agree to the terms in good faith?"

"Yes."

Hessayon said, "Please forgive me for labouring the point, but I want to be very clear about this. You failed to meet professional standards?"

"Yes."

"You _deliberately_ failed to meet professional standards?" Julian noted that Hessayon was very good at feigning incredulity.

Bennett examined his nails carefully, apparently finding them fascinating. Then he said, "Yes."

"Would I be correct in saying that you felt that there would be no repercussions from your failure to meet professional standards in this instance? Because of Julian Bashir's genetic status?"

Bennett shifted uneasily in his seat. "You're twisting things," he said.

"Answer my question, please," said Hessayon.

Momoh leaned forward. "Answer the question, Admiral."

Bennett suppressed a sigh. "Yes. You're right, but—"

Hessayon cut across Bennett's attempt to qualify his answer. "Thank you. I've just a couple more questions... As you were familiar with Project Mendel and the work being done in respect to this by officers under your command, would I be right in assuming that you were aware of the issues raised by the Moab 4 colonists? Specifically, that their lack of personality problems ran counter to the general orthodoxy surrounding genetically enhanced people?"

"Yes."

"Yet you still raised the spectre of Khan when you justified to Julian Bashir the sentencing of his father to two years in prison?"

"Yes."

"Thank you. No further questions."

Momoh looked at Yilmaz and said, "Counsellor, do you have any questions for this witness?"

Yilmaz stood up. "Yes, your honour." She straightened her shoulders, looked directly at Bennett, and said, "Admiral, you said just now that my learned friend was 'twisting things'." She mimed double quotes around the last two words. "Would I be correct in thinking that professional standards do not apply in this instance?"

Julian glanced at Yilmaz. She clearly expected Bennett's answer to be yes.

He said, "No," in a tone that conveyed disapproval. "Professional standards should always apply," he said repressively.

Yilmaz flinched back as though Bennett had slapped her.

"No?" she gasped, the word stung out of her in the form of a disbelieving question. "But he's enhanced!"

The prejudice in that single exclamation was loud and clear to everyone. Julian felt his eyes narrow with antipathy, even while he rejoiced at Yilmaz's inadvertent faux pas.

Bennett looked singularly unimpressed with her, and he took the opportunity to answer the question she hadn't meant to ask, and, once he'd started, she couldn't stop him. She looked increasingly alarmed and, when Julian glanced at Fischer, he saw that Fischer was looking floridly thunderous.

"We chose not to apply professional standards because we wanted to test society's reaction to the deal. We ignored professional standards. We did not discount them. With hindsight, I believe that what we did was unethical, and we were remiss not to follow standard practice. Standards exist for a reason, to ensure that we practice law fairly and with integrity. I now believe that, in this instance, we did not. We forgot to consider the individual rights of our 'guinea pig'. We saw the genetically enhanced in the abstract, not as sentient beings with individual personalities and feelings, just like anybody else."

Then, to Julian's astonishment and Fischer's fury, Bennett turned towards the petitioners' table, looked Julian straight in the eye, and said, "I regret the worst excesses of our actions, and I'd like to take this opportunity to apologise for them."

Julian's mouth opened in a small moue of surprise. Beside him, he heard Sisko gasp and Hessayon chuckle softly.

Into the silence that followed, Yilmaz said squeakily, "No further questions."

After checking that Hessayon didn't want to question the witness again, Momoh looked at Bennett and said, "You may step down."

-=o=-

At the start of the lunch recess, as Hessayon gathered up his various bits and pieces, Julian let loose his excitement. "That was...! Wow! That was brilliant! Incredible! Did you hear Admiral Bennett? He as good as said that what they did was wrong! That's got to be good for us, hasn't it?"

Julian couldn't remember when he'd last felt this ebullient about anything. He was so excited that he felt as though he might jump out of his skin and that his grin was going to tear his face apart, but he didn't care because what Bennett had just done was beyond amazing.

Hessayon put a hand on Julian's forearm and leaned towards him. "Calm down," he said quietly.

Julian looked askance at him. How could anyone be calm after what had just happened?

"It _was_ amazing," said Hessayon softly, "but I don't want you to look so pleased. You don't want people to think that you're gloating, and you never want to let your opponents see your hand. Poker face, right?"

"I'll try," said Julian, who had never been much good at poker. "It's difficult, though. I mean, that's the best thing that's happened to me in a long time."

As he removed his hand, Hessayon patted Julian's arm. "I know," he said. "Now, let's get some lunch."

-=o=-

The baying crowd of protestors that had gathered outside the courthouse aroused in Julian uncomfortable memories and feelings of disquiet. However, both he and Sisko had known what to expect, and they had learned caution from the disciplinary tribunal. It was Hessayon, who hadn't experienced the mob mentality first-hand, who was most visibly disturbed by the crowd.

Sisko gathered Julian and Hessayon close to him, at the top of the courthouse steps, out of easy range of any lobbed missiles, and he tapped his comm badge. Then, together, the three of them transported back to New Orleans for lunch, where they could be almost certain of being allowed to eat in peace.

"How do you think it's going?" asked Julian, as they all sat down around one of the tables on the patio. "And, please, be honest."

"I think it's going well. Better than I'd expected, actually," said Hessayon.

"Seriously?"

"Yes."

"I heard Fischer arguing at Yilmaz during this morning's recess," said Sisko thoughtfully.

"I think everyone heard," said Hessayon.

"I didn't. When was that?" asked Julian around a mouthful of food.

"When you were in the bathroom, I think," said Sisko.

"What were they arguing about?"

"Something about her needing to do better. She said she was doing the best she could, and he said it wasn't good enough. He was...quite unpleasant," said Sisko. "He was so angry that he couldn't keep his voice under control."

"He's got a point, though," said Hessayon, frowning. "I don't understand it. I can't believe that her reputation is so much greater than her abilities. It's a good thing for us, of course, but I'd expected better from her."

"Maybe she has a conscience and is holding back?" suggested Joseph as he placed bowls of jambalaya in front of Julian and Hessayon.

Hessayon snorted. "I doubt it."

Julian remembered the way she'd exclaimed, "But he's enhanced!" and he doubted it, too. However, he resolved not to worry about it, at least not just now. Instead, he chose to concentrate on the new confidence that Bennett's apology had given him. He smiled to himself as he remembered how the admiral had chastised Yilmaz.

Julian dug into his food, and he quickly make up from the breakfast he hadn't been able to stomach earlier.

-=o=-

Hessayon said, "I call Julian Bashir to the stand."

"Objection!" cried Yilmaz.

"On what grounds?" asked Hessayon with an impressive amount of disdain.

Yilmaz tilted her chin defiantly upwards and said, "Bashir cannot give evidence on his own behalf. He is incompetent to do so. That is, after all, why his Advocate filed the petition. The Advocate speaks for him and, as we have already heard from Captain Sisko, there is no need to hear from Bashir, too."

Momoh leaned forward as he asked, "Would you deny a child the right to express an opinion in a custody hearing?"

"He's not a child," snapped Yilmaz. "He's an Augment!"

Hessayon tilted his head slightly and said calmly, "I agree that Lieutenant Bashir is not a child. However, the analogy is apt."

Momoh considered his options for a second and then he took a deep breath and said, "I'm going to allow the questioning."

"But—"

Momoh narrowed his eyes and glared at Yilmaz. "There are no buts in my courtroom! Given that this is the first case of this type in living memory, there is no direct precedent. I choose to allow this because the closest parallel that I can come up with is from family law and the evidence provided by a minor. Children are allowed to express preferences. Why shouldn't the genetically enhanced?" He looked at Julian and said, "Lieutenant. Please take the stand."

Julian's heart leapt. The way Momoh was conducting this case was light years away from how Delon had conducted the disciplinary tribunal. If nothing else, this case was fair. As he got up, walked to the witness stand, and sat down again, he felt an upsurge of optimism.

Julian rested his hand, palm down, on the reader. The computer remained silent.

"Computer!" demanded the clerk. "Identify this witness."

"No identification is possible," intoned the computer's voice.

The clerk exchanged perplexed glances with Momoh and everyone else who was within glancing distance, including Julian.

"Computer: why is no identification possible?" demanded Momoh, voicing out loud the question that Julian had been asking himself.

"There is too much contradictory information for an accurate identification."

"An error message?" muttered Momoh. "Is that even possible?"

Apparently it was.

The clerk looked at Momoh and said, "If I may...?"

"Go ahead. Do whatever you think best."

"Computer: describe the conflicting information."

"Complying... Records identify palm print as belonging to Julian Bashir; Lieutenant, Starfleet; current posting Chief Medical Officer, serving on space station Deep Space Nine and USS Defiant. Conflicting data identifies individual as human-genetically enhanced, and therefore subject to all the laws and restrictions pertaining to all genetically enhanced beings, including the Employment and Labour Regulations (Genetically Enhanced Individuals Amendment) Act, 2105. Individual cannot practice medicine or serve in Starfleet, and there is no current medical licence on file with the Federation's Medical Standards Board."

"The computer might have doubts," said Momoh, "but I'm satisfied that this is Julian Bashir. Let us proceed."

Hessayon looked at Julian and said, "Since the computer raised the question of employment law as it relates to you, let's start with that. According to the Employment and Labour Regulations (Genetically Enhanced Individuals Amendment) Act, 2105, as a genetically enhanced person, you would normally not be permitted to work beyond your pre-enhanced capacity. Is that correct?"

"Yes. That is correct."

"But the deal made between Rear Admiral Bennett of the Judge Advocate General's office and your father introduced a loop-hole into that law, didn't it?"

"Yes," said Julian.

"The deal allowed you to remain in Starfleet and to retain your posting as Chief Medical Officer on Deep Space Nine. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"And, is it not also correct that, subsequent to the deal being made, the Federation Medical Standards Board stripped you of your licence to practice medicine?"

"Yes."

"Did the MSB do this because you were an incompetent doctor?"

"No."

"In your time as a practicing physician, did you ever fail to meet the professional standards required of you?"

"No."

"But you were still struck off the register. Why? Because you're genetically enhanced?"

"In part, yes."

"Why else?"

"According to the ruling of the MSB's disciplinary tribunal, I had brought the profession into disrepute."

"How?"

"By breaking the law to become a doctor."

"But isn't it true that you could not have become a doctor without breaking the law?"

"Yes. That's true."

"So, you met all the professional standards required of you to practice as a physician. But you were struck off the register because you broke the law by entering the profession in the first place?"

"Yes."

"Without a licence to practice medicine, you cannot continue in your post as Chief Medical Office on Deep Space Nine can you?"

"No. I cannot."

"But, according to the deal made by Rear Admiral Bennett, you can still keep your Starfleet commission."

"Yes."

"But, were you to leave Starfleet, you would be unable to find meaningful employment because of the limitations set by your pre-enhanced capabilities?"

"Yes." Julian resisted the urge to fidget with embarrassment as, yet again, his most personal information was aired in public.

"So, your only options are to remain in Starfleet or not to be able to work at all?"

"Yes."

"You have been ordered to transfer branches within the Service from Medical to Intelligence. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to transfer to Intelligence?"

"No."

"You would rather remain in Medical?"

"Yes."

"But you're no longer a doctor. What would you do there?"

"I could retrain as a nurse. Or I could work in research."

"You have a proven track record in research, haven't you?"

"Yes."

"In fact, you are the youngest person ever to be nominated for the Carrington Award, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"But you haven't been given the option of redeployment within Medical or Science, have you?"

"No."

"All right. Going back to your transfer orders: did you challenge them?"

"Yes."

"What happened?"

"I was told that I had no right of challenge."

"Who told you that?"

"The communiqué was signed by Admiral Fischer."

"You were also informed that you couldn't refuse the transfer, weren't you?"

"Yes. That's true."

"Because, as a genetically enhanced individual, you have no right of self-determination?"

"Yes," said Julian. He knew that the questions were necessary, but he hated them. He desperately wanted the ordeal of his testimony to be over.

Hessayon looked towards Momoh and said, "All this information is contained in the correspondence submitted as petitioner's Exhibit A." Then he turned back to Julian and said, "In fact, because of your status, you didn't even have the right to petition the court on your own behalf, did you?"

"No." Out of sight, he clenched his fists against the indignity of his situation. Stay positive, he told himself, and everything'll work out in the end.

"You are only able to be here today because you were assigned an Advocate, and he filed the paperwork on your behalf."

"Yes."

"Without your Advocate, you would have had no defence against the transfer at all, would you?"

"No."

"All right. Moving on... You have said that you do not wish to work for Starfleet Intelligence."

"That is correct."

"Can you tell the court, why not?"

"Because... it's not an area of work I'm interested in. Nor does it, I think, play to my strengths. Moreover, I'm not sure that..." He remembered the pain, repugnance and the yellow people, and he had to suppress a shiver. He took a deep breath and said firmly, "I do not believe that Starfleet Intelligence has any interest in my mental or physical wellbeing."

"On what do you base this conclusion?"

"On the basis that officers from Starfleet Intelligence subjected me to testing without seeking my consent, and that I almost died as a result of their activities."

"Objection!" shouted Yilmaz. "That was an unfortunate accident!"

Hessayon turned to Judge Momoh and said, "Accident or not, it happened, and is a matter of record. I have already submitted the documentation relating to the lieutenant's medical treatment as petitioner's Exhibit B."

Momoh nodded. "Objection denied. Carry on, Professor Hessayon."

Hessayon turned back to Julian. "So, you wish to protect yourself by not working for Intelligence."

"Yes."

"But, as the law currently stands, you cannot refuse to work for Starfleet Intelligence."

"No, I cannot."

"And that is why you—or rather your Advocate—has petitioned the court, requesting that you be given the right to choose."

"Yes."

"No further questions."

At the cue from Momoh, Yilmaz stood up. She looked appraisingly at Julian, her head tilted slightly to one side, then she said, "When your father was offered the deal, you were grateful, weren't you?"

"Yes," said Julian.

"No further questions."

-=o=-

Hessayon, Sisko and Julian were walking towards the exit when the sound of raised voices made Julian stop abruptly. Beside him, Sisko and Hessayon did the same, distracted by the sounds of a heated argument coming from behind a closed door.

"Is that Fischer again?" asked Sisko incredulously.

Julian nodded. "And Yilmaz."

"Can you make out what they're saying?" asked Hessayon.

"Some," said Julian. He gestured for quiet so that he could hear better.

"You don't have any hold over me." That was Yilmaz.

"No? What about your brother?"

"My brother?" She sounded astonished.

There was a murmur of words that Julian couldn't catch. He frowned as he tried to concentrate harder. He knew that he could hear a lot better than the others, but even he couldn't make out everything.

There was a burst of hysterical laughter. "You have got to be joking!" exclaimed Yilmaz incredulously. "My brother isn't— Neither of us are— You..." Then there was more laughter. Maybe Julian was imagining things, but it sounded false and forced.

There was another rumble of speech, louder and angrier, but no clearer.

"How dare you even suggest—!"

There was another rumble, more heated than the last, but still indecipherable.

"You've no proof, and you won't find any, because there isn't anything for you to find. It's not true. Tell who you like, but I swear, if you do, I'll have you for slander!"

There was yet more rumbling, then stomping footsteps.

Julian, Sisko and Hessayon all jumped back and tried to make it look as though they had just happened to be walking past at that moment.

Fischer stormed out of the room. Julian glanced in and saw Yilmaz staring after him, fury and consternation writ large on her face. As soon as she noticed Julian, she straightened, put on her game face, and the unguarded moment was over, as though it had never been.

She gathered up her PADDs and swept past the trio without acknowledging them at all.

Julian, Sisko and Hessayon looked at each other. "What the heck was that about?" asked Sisko.

Julian was sure that Sisko's question had been rhetorical, but Hessayon answered anyway. "No idea. But if there's that much tension in the opposition's camp, it can only be good for us."

"Wait until we get away from here, and then I'll tell you what I heard," offered Julian.

"Deal," said Sisko.

Together, they walked out of the building into a blinding explosion of holo flashes. While Julian held up his hands to protect his eyes, repeating over and over again, "No comment, no comment," Sisko reached his comm badge to request transport.

Then, in the midst of the chaos, another kind of light flashed and Julian plummeted to the ground.

-=o=-


	26. Chapter 26

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

It's always a joy to find a new review, to see what someone has decided to follow or favourite, or to see that the number of views and visitors creep up. You guys make me smile. So, thank you all!

-=o=-

**Chapter Twenty-six**

Screaming.

Someone was screaming.

Oh.

It was him. He was screaming.

But it wasn't just him. The whole world was screaming with him. His mind reached out beyond his body and he could hear panic, shouts and pounding footsteps as the crowd scattered. Then the world narrowed again, and the only thing left in it was indescribable agony.

There was a voice.

"Julian? Julian!"

His body was in spasm.

Pain.

Burning.

"Get a doctor!"

Hessayon?

"Paramedics!"

Captain? Yes. That was Sisko.

"I'm here." Another voice. Female. "I need you to help me."

Loews?

Julian couldn't help her. He wasn't in a state to help anyone, and he couldn't stop screaming long enough to explain that to her.

Oh. Right.

She must have needed someone to help with him, because someone—or several someones—was lifting him, rolling him onto his side.

"Julian! Julian, can you hear me?"

Yes... He tried to nod, but he wasn't sure that he succeeded.

"Fight, Julian! Come on! Don't give up!"

"Hold on, just a little longer!"

The voices seeped through the white fire that the phaser burn had left in its wake. Julian latched on to the speaker's words, knowing that if he let go, he'd lose himself to the pain.

He might lose, period.

The screaming stopped.

He could feel hands tearing at his clothes...exploring...checking his pulse. Was he still breathing?

"There's a medical team coming."

"They got the shooter!" A different voice. Male. Further away.

"Good. You hear that, Julian? They got the man who shot you."

There was more than one voice to hold on to.

If he concentrated...Yes! He could give them names and faces.

Benjamin Sisko. Captain.

Karen Loews.

Hessayon. Baldie Archibald. Prof...something...

"Hold on."

"Julian..."

"Breathe, dammit, Julian! Breathe!"

"I've lost his pulse!"

"No! Don't...Julian!"

Someone rolled him onto his back. Then a pile driver began hammering down on his chest. His ribs would shatter, if it didn't let up.

"...can't give up now..."

The words twisted into meaningless syllables as Julian's hold on the world waned.

His mind and body shattered into infinity.

-=o=-

Thank heaven, or God, or the Bajoran prophets for Loews! She'd kept Julian alive long enough for him to be transported to hospital. Then she'd bullied and argued her way into the operating theatre.

Sisko had had to settle for killing time in the waiting room until someone deigned to bring him news.

Waiting room! What a stupid name! It wasn't a room. It was just a length of corridor that was a little wider than the rest, with a row of chairs lined up against one of its walls.

Unable to sit still, Sisko paced backwards and forwards and around in circles. He couldn't shake the fear that, without Loews there, Julian might conveniently die in theatre.

When had Sisko grown so suspicious, so distrustful of other people's motives? Oh, yes... That would have been when he'd started paying more attention to Julian...

A screen on one of the walls played the FNS newsfeed on a soundless loop. Sisko didn't want to look, but he couldn't tear his eyes away for more than a few seconds at a time. The screen keep pulling his attention back as the news footage repeated over and over, interspersed by excited talking heads mouthing silent words.

The newsfeed showed footage of Julian falling to the ground...lying on the ground... Julian blocked from view as Sisko and Loews tried to help him... Loews pressing on his chest and breathing for him...

There was footage of the scattering, screaming crowd, the arrival and departure of the medical team, and of the chaos and rubble and the gaping hole in the courthouse's wall, where the brunt of the phaser blast had hit.

Sisko stared at the image of the hole, and he marvelled that Julian was still alive. If he was still alive. But he must be, because nobody had come out to tell him otherwise.

Julian had been lucky that his would-be assassin had been such a lousy shot. The phaser blast had vaporised everything in its immediate path. If the beam had hit Julian head on... Sisko shuddered at the thought, and his pacing grew faster and more agitated.

Julian had been caught in the outer edge of the phaser's beam. Its energy hadn't been enough to vaporise his flesh, but it had rippled through his clothing, epidermis, dermis, and into the subcutaneous tissues underneath, leaving his left torso and abdomen ravaged and torn.

No wonder there had been so much blood. Sisko could still feel it, warm and slick, and he had to look down at his hands to convince himself that his skin was now clean and dry. Then he felt his eyes being pulled back to the screen.

"Ben!"

Sisko spun around. "Dad," he breathed, and he couldn't remember when he'd last felt so relieved to see anyone.

Joseph's forehead was creased with concern. "Where...?"

"Still in surgery."

Joseph's frown deepened. "But you called me hours ago. I came as soon as I could get away, but it's been—"

"I know. One of the nurses came out a while ago. She said that they'd almost lost him. Last I heard, they'd had to restart his heart twice, but he was still hanging in there." Sisko lapsed into silence.

"Come on, son. Sit down." Joseph wrapped his hands around Sisko's right wrist and guided him to the row of chairs.

-=o=-

It was past midnight when Loews, accompanied by a man Sisko didn't recognise, came into view. Sisko nudged Joseph to full wakefulness and the two Siskos scrambled to their feet.

Loews introduced her companion as a surgical resident. Sisko didn't quite catch his name. He thought it was Matteus...something. Or maybe it was something-Matteus.

"The nurses are transferring him to ICU," said something-Matteus. His eyes were tired and red, his voice weary. He sounded neither resigned nor worried, just...calmly dispassionate. Sisko couldn't tell whether he was emotionless because he was too tired to be anything else or whether that was a true reflection of the man.

"Can we see him?" asked Joseph.

Something-Matteus looked them up and down, and sounded doubtful as he asked, "Are you family?"

"They're closer than family," said Loews. "And the captain, here, is listed as Julian's next of kin."

Sisko struggled to hide his surprise. He hadn't known that. Why hadn't he known? When had that happened? Was it part of the Advocacy arrangement, or was it something that Julian had chosen for himself?

Or maybe Loews was lying to help them.

Something-Matteus nodded, accepting Loews's explanation. He looked at Sisko and Joseph and said, "Then, yes. One at a time, though. You can sit with him, if you want, but I should tell you... He's in a coma, and while I'm...hopeful...that he'll come out of it, there is no saying when. Or if."

"I understand," said Sisko sombrely.

Something-Matteus led Sisko, Joseph and Loews through the hospital until they reached the intensive care unit. ICU was made up of a suite of brightly lit rooms. The patients were hard to spot amongst the surgical shells, sensors, displays, and a myriad of other equipment that Sisko couldn't even begin to identify.

Something-Matteus paused at the entrance to one of the rooms. Desperate to catch a glimpse of Julian for himself, Sisko peered over his shoulder. A nurse was smoothing down the bedding. She straightened, nodded a silent greeting at something-Matteus, and then dodged around them all as she edged into the hallway.

Sisko swallowed. Julian had been placed on his side, one arm hidden beneath his body, and the other resting limply atop the sheets. There were sensors on his temples and attached to his fingers, and Sisko could see the steady beat of Julian's heart play across the diagnostic panel on the wall above the bed.

Something-Matteus read the concern on Sisko's and Joseph's faces and he said, "Frankly, I didn't think he'd make it this far. He's a fighter, this one. Don't write him off just yet."

Sisko nodded. "Thank you," he said. "For everything."

The corners of something-Matteus's lips twitched. Sisko suspected that it was his weariness that prevented the twitch from developing into a fully-fledged smile. "You're welcome. Now, if you'll excuse me..."

Sisko watched as something-Matteus walked away.

"He was incredible," said Loews. "Julian wouldn't have made it without him."

"It was that bad?" said Joseph.

Gravely, Loews said, "Yes."

Sisko nodded, remembering the screams...the blood...how Julian's body had seized...Loews's efforts to keep his blood flowing, and the way she'd breathed for him.

Sisko pushed the memories away and listened to Loews as she filled them in with more details than they needed or understood. Then, she, too, made her apologies and went home.

-=o=-

Another bed. Another vigil, and this one was even more worrisome than the last. Not only was Julian's condition far more serious, but also something had shifted inside of Sisko.

Sisko's concern now went far beyond anything that could be accounted for by his being Julian's commanding officer. Somewhere along the line, Sisko had come to feel genuine affection; he had told the truth when he'd said to Julian that he and Joseph had come to consider him family.

Family... Paradoxically, the term felt vague and precise at the same time. Sisko wasn't sure what Julian was to him: son; brother; friend? Their relationship crossed and blurred boundaries, defying easy description.

Sisko worried at the idea for a while, and then he decided that it didn't matter. All that mattered was that he had come to care greatly about Julian and about what happened to him.

Julian looked paler than usual, though whether that was because of the harsh hospital lighting or the blood loss, Sisko wasn't sure.

Seeing anyone so still would have been disconcerting, but in Julian's case it was doubly so. He was usually a bundle of barely contained energy. Even sleeping, he tended to toss and turn restlessly. Now, Sisko had to check the readouts on the diagnostic panel and the rise and fall of Julian's chest to reassure himself that Julian was still breathing.

Sometime around three in the morning the nurse came back. She encouraged Sisko to talk.

Sisko nodded and felt too self-conscious to say anything in front of her. However, after she'd gone, he forced himself to overcome his reluctance to speak, and, once he began to talk, he found he couldn't stop. He filled the silence with anything and nothing, and he couldn't remember any of it afterwards.

-=o=-

Sisko stayed with Julian for as long as he could, which was probably longer than he should have. He barely managed to find time to freshen up, to put on a clean uniform, and to overdose himself on the strongest caffeinated drink that he could find, before he arrived at the courthouse.

Sisko had cut things fine, and he didn't have time to answer Hessayon's, "How are you doing?" before Momoh called the court to order.

Momoh looked around the room and asked, "Where is Julian Bashir?"

He must have known about the previous afternoon's events. That being the case, Sisko guessed Momoh was asking more for form's sake than because he needed any information.

Hessayon answered anyway. "The lieutenant is in San Francisco General. Following the...incident...yesterday, he underwent lengthy surgical procedures last night. He's currently in ICU. The hospital is reporting his condition as 'critical but stable'."

Sisko knew what that really meant: Julian was still in a coma, his prognosis uncertain. However, given that Julian hadn't died yet, the doctors were determinedly optimistic.

Momoh considered Hessayon, Sisko and the empty chair at the petitioner's table. "Do you want an adjournment?" he asked.

Sisko looked at Hessayon. Did they? Sisko hadn't thought about how the shooting might impact on the case, and now he found himself wondering at the oversight. He should have made time to talk to Hessayon... They should have come up with a plan...

Hessayon leaned in towards Sisko and said, "What do you wa—"

But, before he could finish the question, Yilmaz was on her feet saying, "Bashir doesn't need to be here. His Advocate is present, so I see no reason to postpone."

Momoh nodded. "Legally, that's true. However..."

Sisko and Hessayon looked at each other. Then Sisko said quietly and sombrely, "There's no telling how long he's going to be in the coma."

Hessayon nodded. He turned to Momoh and said, "We'll continue."

"And you're prepared?"

"Yes, your honour."

"Then," said Momoh, "please call your next witness."

Hessayon called Commander Roughsedge to the stand.

-=o=-

Instead of the mustard-coloured uniform Sisko had seen her wear before, Roughsedge was wearing the black and grey uniform of Starfleet Intelligence. She was showing her true colours at last.

As soon as the computer had confirmed Roughsedge's identity, Hessayon began his questioning. "You report directly to Admiral Fischer, do you not?"

"Yes," said Roughsedge.

"So, would it be fair to suggest that your actions reflect orders that have come from him, as next up in the chain of command?"

"I suppose so, yes," she said, "although I have some leeway when it comes to day-to-day operations."

"The security presence at Starfleet Medical was stepped up recently, wasn't it? Can you explain why?"

"Security has been increased throughout the Starfleet complex, not just in Starfleet Medical."

"That doesn't answer my question. Why was security increased?"

"The Dominion threat and concerns about Changeling infiltration necessitated increased security protocols." Her formal language and rigid posture hinted at obfuscation.

Sisko sighed, partly because he was tired, but mostly as an outlet for his frustration. He thought he could see Hessayon's shoulders rise and fall as he also sighed. Then Sisko saw Hessayon take a deep breath and force himself to be patient.

Hessayon said, "Let me try again. When was security increased across the campus because of the Dominion threat?"

"That would be..." Roughsedge procrastinated. "I can't be specific, but—"

"Then let me help you. It would have been after the assassinations at the diplomatic conference last year, wouldn't it?"

"Yes," Roughsedge agreed grudgingly.

"Yet, more recently, security has been increased again, at Starfleet Medical. But the increase in security at the medical complex hasn't been matched with changes in levels of security elsewhere on the campus. So, please explain the reason for the more recent increase in levels of security at Starfleet Medical."

Through gritted teeth, Roughsedge said, "It was because of Bashir's presence there. There were...safety concerns."

"You were concerned for him?"

Roughsedge remained stonily silent.

"Or perhaps you were concerned because of him?"

"Yes," she said.

"Which one?"

"The second one. Both. I—" Flustered, she let her eyes flick fleetingly towards Fischer. Then she clamped her jaw shut.

"You monitored his movements whenever he was in Starfleet Medical, didn't you?"

"Not me, personally, no."

"Your staff, then?"

"Yes. And Starfleet Security."

"Ah. Because you work in Intelligence, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Would I be right in supposing that you have also monitored his movements away from Starfleet Medical?"

"No. You would not."

"Oh?" Hessayon's voice indicated carefully calculated surprise. "So, it was quite by chance that you were at the MSB's disciplinary tribunal? And that you ended up at the same café as Lieutenant Bashir and Captain Sisko at lunchtime on..." He consulted his notes and gave the date.

"Coincidences do happen."

"Yes, they do. But that's not what I asked. Were you monitoring him? And, please, remember that you are under oath."

"Yes. We were monitoring him."

"Why?"

"Because we had concerns."

"For him or because of him, yes. Quite. Now, moving on to the incident in the holosuite..."

Roughsedge glared at Hessayon and Sisko in turn. Her face was rigidly hostile. Sisko looked back at her, hoping that his expression was more neutral and that neither his impatience nor repugnance showed.

Hessayon cited stardate and time and said, "You summoned Lieutenant Bashir to Starfleet Medical on the pretext of having him undergo some tests, did you not?"

"Yes."

"You led him to believe that your tests were part of the programme that Dr Tsonga had been carrying out?"

"No."

"No?"

"He assumed. Incorrectly. We never said any such thing."

"On his arrival at Starfleet Medical, you met him, then escorted him at phaserpoint to a turbolift."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Why?"

"Yes. Why did you feel it necessary to point phasers at him?"

"It was part of the test. We wanted to see what his reaction would be to unexpected events."

"Unexpected events... Like drugging him? With a restricted psychotropic?"

"No. We did that to—" She broke off abruptly, apparently regretting what she had been going to say.

But she'd opened the door for Hessayon to probe further. "Go on? You did it to...?"

"We wanted to make him more suggestible. It should have made the scenario more effective."

"But that didn't work, did it?"

"No."

"Now, moving onto the scenario, itself... Why did you use that particular scenario?"

"The scenario we used was a variant on the standard training tests we use for cadets who want careers within Special Operations," said Roughsedge stiffly.

"I see. And, in what way did it differ from the standard tests?"

"I'm not sure I understand what you're getting at."

"You said, the scenario was a variant on standard tests. So, how did the scenario you used on Lieutenant Bashir vary from the standard?"

"We tailored it to match with his experiences."

"His experiences. You based the scenario on his time in a Dominion prison camp, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Were you aware that, on his arrival back in the Alpha Quadrant, Julian Bashir received counselling because of the traumatic nature of his experiences in that camp?"

"I was aware that he had seen a counsellor, yes," said Roughsedge. "But counselling would be normal procedure, under the circumstances. Just because he was going to counselling does not mean that he was being treated for any kind of stress-related condition."

"A simple 'yes' would have sufficed," said Hessayon. "Now, putting aside the...questionable...content of your scenario for the moment... Am I right in supposing that, when you use these kinds of tests with your trainees, they are used as part of the end of year evaluations?"

"Yes."

"And your cadets would have been trained and briefed in advance, so that they would know, in general terms, at least, what to expect?"

"Yes."

"And your cadets would have enrolled of their own free will on your course?"

"Yes."

"In effect, they would have provided informed consent to be tested?"

"Yes. I suppose so."

"Did Julian Bashir provide informed consent?"

"No, but—"

"Did you ask his permission before you subjected him to the test?"

"No, but—"

"Did you even tell him that you were going to test him?"

"No, but—"

"So, let me get this straight. You lured Lieutenant Bashir to Medical under false pretences. You designed a test based around a traumatic experience for which Julian Bashir had been receiving counselling, you failed to give him any advance warning about the test, and you didn't even attempt to gain any kind of informed consent from him. In short, the test you subjected Julian Bashir to had nothing in common with the tests you use on your cadets, either in terms of content or execution, did it?"

Roughsedge sat in silence.

"Did it?" pressed Hessayon.

Momoh looked at the witness stand and said, "Please answer the question, Commander Roughsedge. And, again, remember that you are under oath."

"No," she said reluctantly. "It did not."

"In fact, there was no scenario beyond the torture, was there?"

"There was a scenario, but he saw through it," argued Roughsedge.

"He saw through it...but you didn't curtail your test, did you? I have to ask, why not? Why did you carry on?"

"We needed to see how much he could endure. How he would react."

"That's it?" said Hessayon incredulously. "You went to all that trouble just to see how far you could go? How much you could hurt him?"

Grudgingly, Roughsedge said, "Essentially, yes."

Hessayon let her answer sink in for a few seconds, then he said, "Two more questions, then I'll be done. First, Admiral Fischer is your commanding officer, is he not?"

"Yes."

"And second, he knew what you were doing, didn't he?"

"Yes."

-=o=-

The pain was gone. So was the white fire that had coated everything.

Now he was cocooned in black, a comforting blanket of numbness that he wanted to keep wrapped tightly around himself. He could hide in here and never come out.

It was warm and comfortable and easy and safe. Not like outside, where the world hurt him every chance it got.

-=o=-

One recess, and two cups of the strongest black coffee that Sisko could find, later, Fischer took the witness stand. He took the oath, looking calmly disinterested in the procedures. Then, when he was done, he nonchalantly dusted some imaginary lint off his uniform and waited for Hessayon to begin.

Hessayon asked a couple of straightforward what and when questions before he moved on to the harder, and more important, questions of why.

Hessayon considered Fischer carefully for a count of three seconds before he asked, "Why did you want to test Julian Bashir at all?"

"Because... Because, given what I'd heard about Bashir, I thought he might make a useful asset for my branch of the Service. But I needed to find out whether his good points were offset by any personality flaws that might give us cause for concern."

"What kind of personality flaws?"

"A propensity towards violence and anger. A desire to rule."

"And why did you think he might show any of these tendencies?"

"Because he's an Augment."

"And did you find any evidence of any such personality flaws?"

"No."

"Had Julian Bashir previously expressed any interest in joining Starfleet Intelligence?"

"No."

"To the best of your knowledge, has he, at any time since the...incident...in the holosuite expressed any desire to join Starfleet Intelligence?"

"No."

"Why, given that, at no time, has Julian Bashir expressed an interest in moving into intelligence work, did you find it acceptable to authorise the transfer order, moving him into your Service?"

"Julian Bashir had been struck off the medical register. He's genetically enhanced, so he couldn't find employment outside the terms set out in the deal brokered by Rear Admiral Bennett. There were no indications that any other branch of Starfleet was willing to take him on. I was prepared to use him."

"Excuse me... 'Use him'?"

"My apologies. That is perhaps a poor choice of words. I was willing to provide him with a position where he might find useful and worthwhile employment."

Hessayon paused again to emphasise the change in topics. Then he asked, "Admiral... Have you heard of Moab 4?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Just answer the question, please."

"Well...yes."

"So I assume you are familiar with the Enterprise's discovery of the colony and subsequent events?"

"Yes," said Fischer.

"How long have you known about them?"

"I don't know," said Fischer. "A while."

"A while... Is that a few weeks? A few months? Years, even?"

"Years, I suppose," said Fischer.

"So, you would have been aware of the implications: that genetic enhancements do not automatically lead to personality problems?"

Sisko wondered how, without seeming to move, Fischer managed to look down his nose at Hessayon and convey utter disdain. "I can't say that I gave it much thought," Fischer said repressively.

Hessayon pounced. "You didn't give it _much_ thought? You gave it some thought, then?"

"'Much thought' is a figure of speech," said Fischer archly. "I doubt I gave it any thought at all. And, if I did, it was all so long ago that I don't remember. It has no relevance to here and now."

Hessayon nodded, paused again, and then switched topics. "Were you aware of the usual provisions for the care of the genetically enhanced? Were you aware that it was normal practice for a genetically enhanced individual to be allocated an Advocate?"

"That aspect of the law had come to my attention, yes."

"Did you at any point seek the approval of Julian Bashir's Advocate?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I was unaware that he had an Advocate."

"Despite you knowing that it would be normal practice for someone of his genetic status to have an Advocate?"

"Yes."

"Did you assume that he had no Advocate?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because he's an adult and, up until the point when his genetic status was revealed, he had been managing his own affairs. I assumed that would continue, particularly as there was no reference to any Advocacy arrangement in Bennett's deal."

"You assumed incorrectly."

"Yes." Fischer sounded faintly annoyed. "Apparently so."

"The court previously heard another witness saying that the role of the Advocate is to protect the interests of a vulnerable person. That same witness suggested that Julian Bashir had both the mental capacity and acuity to manage his own affairs. I put it to you, however, that your use and abuse of the law rendered Julian Bashir vulnerable to you."

-=o=-

The voices were there again.

"Julian... Dr Loews says you'll be all right, if you just wake up."

Joseph?

"To be begin with, everyone assumed that it was a hate crime...made sense...death threats...but then we found out who'd been arrested...quite a scandal. It was your uncle who shot you..."

Uncle Lionel? That didn't sound right.

"Shiva Ghazi denies having anything to do with it. Well, he would, wouldn't he? Though, actually, he probably didn't. I mean, why would he? It was Samil Fahid..."

Oh. That uncle. The one he'd never met...

-=o=-

"I want to submit the full record of events that took place in the holosuite as petitioner's Exhibit D," said Hessayon, holding up a data chip for everyone to see.

Yilmaz leapt to her feet. "Objection!"

"On what grounds?" asked Momoh.

Yilmaz opened her mouth, closed it again, and then reopened it. Then she said, "I understand that the recording has come from an anonymous source. As a result, the authenticity of its content cannot be confirmed."

Momoh looked at Hessayon. "Counsellor?" he asked.

Hessayon said, "Julian Bashir has confirmed that its content was a true and accurate account of events."

Yilmaz sniffed. "Julian Bashir isn't here."

Momoh said, "I don't suppose you have a signed affidavit from the lieutenant to support your claim?"

Hessayon shook his head. "No. I had no reason to think I'd need one."

"Unfortunate," murmured Momoh so quietly that Sisko wondered whether he'd imagined it. "Do you have anything else?"

Hessayon said, "Captain Sisko and Dr Loews can confirm the accuracy of the latter part of the recording. Plus, Lieutenant Bashir's medical records are consistent with the injuries shown in the recording. Finally, Captain Sisko is prepared to testify that he had a conversation with Admiral Fischer about finding Julian Bashir in the holosuite; Admiral Fischer described the overdosing Lieutenant Bashir with kenfitamol as an 'unfortunate accident'."

Yilmaz interrupted. "And Admiral Fischer is prepared to testify that no such conversation ever took place."

Sisko felt his face set into an angry scowl, and it took a lot of effort for him to school his expression into something more neutral. Yilmaz had as good as accused him of being a liar. At the same time, she had revealed to anyone in the know just how far Fischer would go to hide the truth.

Hessayon didn't seem bothered by Yilmaz's accusation. If anything, he seemed amused. "We'd be happy to subject the recording to any and every test available...and, if—when—it stands up to scrutiny, it will raise questions as to why neither Commander Roughsedge nor Admiral Fischer released it when they were formally requested to produce."

Sisko glanced across at Yilmaz. Her lips were thinning with annoyance and a frown was etching deep lines between her eyes. Next to her, Fischer could do nothing to hide the angry flush that was crawling up his neck and across his cheeks.

Hessayon continued relentlessly. "We can also place Commander Roughsedge and her staff in Starfleet Medical at the times and on the dates suggested by the recording."

Slightly desperately, Yilmaz said, "We don't deny that they were there, and we don't deny that there was a test. We are simply arguing that this recording isn't a true record of the test that was carried out."

Hessayon raised his eyebrows. "Yet the defence cannot provide any other record." He turned to Momoh and said, "Your honour, the recording provides clear evidence of the dangers to which my client is currently exposed. At the very least, it shows a cavalier disregard to his wellbeing. It highlights the dangers to which the lieutenant would be subject, were he forced to work with these...people."

"Objection overruled," said Momoh to Yilmaz.

Hessayon didn't smile, although Sisko was sure that he was tempted to. Hessayon said, "We further request, given the sensitive and personal nature of some of the material in the recording, that the viewing be carried out in closed session, and its contents be redacted for any subsequent broadcast."

Momoh said, "Is that really necessary."

Hessayon nodded. "We believe that it is."

"Does the defence have any objections?"

"No, your honour," said Yilmaz.

"Very well."

-=o=-

In the end, Momoh decided that the only people who needed to see the recording were himself and the two lawyers. Thus, Sisko found himself freed from attending the court until the morning after next. He split the intervening time between the hospital and—at Joseph's insistence—catching up on his sleep.

Fortunately, Joseph made it easier for Sisko to rest because he had taken it upon himself to set up a rota of people willing to sit with Julian. The hospital staff, albeit reluctantly, allowed this because it had been authorised by Julian's "family".

Julian, himself, remained comatose, with no signs of waking.

Thus, the next time Sisko and Hessayon met at the courtroom, Sisko was feeling a great deal more refreshed.

Hessayon filled him in on what he had missed. Momoh had been appalled by the recording and had forwarded a copy on to the relevant authorities demanding that assault charges be prepared against as many of the perpetrators as possible. However, from the impassive manner in which Momoh reconvened the proceedings, Sisko would never have guessed.

-=o=-

Yilmaz had found someone from Starfleet's Life-form Resources department to give evidence relating to the organisation's policies and procedures. The witness, a Heidi Mannheim, was young, female, and attractive in a generic sort of way. In short, she was instantly forgettable. Although Sisko had managed to catch up on his sleep, he found it harder to concentrate on the proceedings than he had two days before because Mannheim's voice was so monotonic and quiet. Her delivery might have been good in a relaxation tape for insomniacs but it made listening to her evidence an effort.

Although Sisko tried to concentrate, he found himself drifting in and out, unable to hold onto the proceedings for more than a couple of sentences at a time. He tried to distract himself by looking to see how other people were reacting. Not many people seemed to be engaging with the subject matter, which was all sub-section this and paragraph that.

To his relief, Momoh and Hessayon were among the minority who were paying attention. Sisko idly wondered whether they had become lawyers because they had a high tolerance for tedium, or whether tolerance for tedium was something they had learned in law school.

Sisko was drifting again, and he had to blink and screw up his eyes, open them wide, and blink again to bring himself back into the present.

"...essentially, Federation law trumps your policies?" said Yilmaz.

"Yes," Mannheim answered.

"And everything that Starfleet has offered to Bashir has been more generous than the provisions set out in law, even if it has not been according to the best practice of your policies and procedures?"

"Yes."

"In other words, Starfleet has more than met its obligations to him."

Sisko snorted quietly and derisively before losing the thread of the discussion again. He began to shift in his chair, to look at his fingers, and to pick at his nails.

He wasn't the only person fidgeting, and, when he glanced around again, he saw more than a few pairs of drooping eyelids and suppressed yawns.

Yilmaz was sitting down. She'd finished her questioning, and Sisko had barely heard a word.

Hessayon stood up. "Lieutenant Mannheim," he said, "how often are your LR policies reviewed?"

"I...I'm not sure," she said.

"The LR department has a policy about policy review, does it not?"

"Yes..." she said uncertainly.

"And, according to your policy about policy review, how often should these policies be reviewed?"

"Every five years. As a minimum. I think."

"And how long is it since—let's see—your equalities policy was last reviewed?"

"I... Off the top of my head, I couldn't say."

"Then let me help you. The equalities policy, submitted as defence Exhibit A four, is stardated 41159.5. That's, what, over nine Earth years ago, isn't it?"

"Yes. I suppose so," said Mannheim. She was looking uncomfortable, and her cheeks changed from nervously pale to fiery pink and back again in less than a minute.

"It was written well before the Data versus the Federation case, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"A landmark ruling, which certainly should have informed any policy review?"

"Yes."

"In fact, arguably, it should have _prompted_ such a review."

"I..."

"Answer, please."

Yilmaz got to her feet and said, "Objection: he's hectoring the witness."

Momoh shook his head slightly, apparently not agreeing. He said in a kindly tone to Mannheim, "Please answer the question."

"...Yes...if you put it like that."

Yilmaz tried again. "Objection. Relevance?"

Hessayon smiled, but there was no warmth in his expression. "My point is that these policies aren't worth the data storage they're archived on. They're out of date and, by the witness's own admission, they can be overridden by legislation or at the discretion of Starfleet Heads of Branch. Or, presumably, the JAG."

-=o=-

So near, so far...

Sisko had never understood that old saying so clearly as he did now. The case had reached its final stages. They were only closing statements away from a decision. Yet, suddenly, everything seemed to slow down and to take three or four times longer than it should have done. The reiteration and summation of all the arguments that had already been presented felt redundant and tedious. Sisko told himself that it was all necessary and that the legal process had to be followed. But still...

Hessayon, as the legal counsel for the petitioners, went first. "Is Julian Bashir genetically enhanced?" he began. "Yes. Do Federation laws differentiate between the genetically enhanced and the wider population? Yes. Is that relevant to this case? No. This case centres on whether or not Starfleet abided by its own policies and procedures in its dealings with Julian Bashir. We argue that it did not. Julian Bashir's genetic status merely provides the context for the case. Were he not genetically enhanced, his fitness to serve in Starfleet would never have been questioned."

Sisko tuned in and out of Hessayon's closing statement. He'd heard all the arguments before and, no matter how hard he tried to concentrate, he found his attention drifting.

Sisko thought about Julian. He thought about Joseph, who was sitting with Julian. He worried that everything going on around him in the courtroom might be in vain, if Julian did not come out of his coma.

"Julian Bashir's genetic status ceased to be relevant the moment that Rear Admiral Bennett made his deal with Richard Bashir. Using the powers delegated to him as an official of the JAG, Bennett promised Julian Bashir that Bashir would be allowed to retain his commission. At that point, the deal took precedence over Federation law and, from then on, Julian Bashir should have been treated like any other officer in Starfleet. He was not."

Sisko could hear the echo of the diagnostic monitors playing inside his head, and he hoped that the monitors were still beeping in reality, not just in his imagination.

"Lieutenant Bashir and his father both acted in good faith when they accepted the terms of Bennett's deal. They have abided by all its terms and conditions. Starfleet has not. And it has not because Starfleet's personnel consider it acceptable to use and abuse Julian Bashir because of his genetic status. We have demonstrated how the prejudice against Julian Bashir has manifested itself within Starfleet, and the dangers to which he is currently being subjected. We request that the court overturns the transfer orders, that it compels Starfleet to honour its policies and procedures, as well as the conditions of the deal, and that it requires Starfleet to find for the lieutenant employment that aligns with his qualifications and training. Most importantly, we petition the court to demand that Julian Bashir be given the 'right to choose' that has been accorded to every sentient being. Thank you."

Hessayon sat down beside him. Hessayon was finished, and Sisko had barely noticed. Called back to the here and now, Sisko looked around. If the grim set of Yilmaz's mouth was any indication, Hessayon's statement had her worried. Sisko hoped so, anyway.

Sisko didn't think that Yilmaz had managed to come up with much in the way of robust arguments to support her side of the case, so he wasn't sure that she'd find anything significant to say in her closing statement. Then again, what did he know? He'd been wrong before: look at how the disciplinary tribunal had turned out, and Julian had had justice on his side, then, too.

Sisko sighed, and he remembered out of nowhere something his grandmother used to tell him: "Don't you go borrowing trouble." He remembered how she'd wagged her right index finger at him whenever she'd said it. In fact, she'd wagged that finger every time she offered what she considered to be good advice or whenever she'd told him off. She had wagged that finger a lot.

Despite everything, Sisko found himself comforted by the memories, and he almost smiled.

Yilmaz began to speak, pulling him back to the present.

"My learned friend is wrong when he says that Julian Bashir's genetic status has no bearing on this case. Of course it does. Were he not Augmented, there would never have been a case at all. Do Starfleet's policies and procedures apply to him? No, they don't, because they were never written with the genetically enhanced in mind. Federation law trumps any mere policy or procedure."

She glanced around, then continued. "If anything, Starfleet has failed to meet its legal obligations with respect to Julian Bashir. Starfleet has been overly generous in offering continued employment to someone who, legally, is unemployable. That Julian Bashir has expressed a preference not to work within the field of employment offered to him is irrelevant. The only options available to Julian Bashir are to take the transfer or to submit himself to the laws as set out in the Employment and Labour Regulations (Genetically Enhanced Individuals Amendment) Act, 2105. Starfleet has no case to answer."

Hessayon stood up to make his final statement. "And there, your honour," he said, "lies the crux of the matter. Does the legal framework override our ideals, aspirations, and our common decency? We argue that there should be flexibility and discretion in the application of the law. The Defence's argument is that, if the transfer to Intelligence does not take place, then Julian Bashir should be subject to the limitations set out in employment law. If Admiral Fischer doesn't get what he wants, then nobody else should get what they want, either."

Hessayon turned around slowly, his eyes narrowed in disapproval. He let the message sink in, then he said, "This is the law of the schoolyard, the rule of the bully. There is no generosity of spirit in the defence's argument, and I am forced to ask, why not? Isn't this argument, itself, evidence of the attitudes and prejudice that are directed towards Lieutenant Julian Bashir? I hope that this court will be more generous than the defence, and that it will give Julian Bashir the right to protect himself from abuse and harm. That it will give him the right to choose. Thank you."

Hessayon sat down. The court was still and silent.

Then Momoh said sombrely, "This court will reconvene this afternoon, at three o'clock, when I will make my ruling."

-=o=-

There was a crack in the black blanket. Someone was holding his hand. He could feel it. Whoever it was had warm skin. Calloused. Dry. Comforting. And there was a voice.

He'd heard it before.

Sisko. Not the captain.

Joseph.

"Come back to us, Julian. We miss you. Not just me. Not just your friends on Deep Space Nine. Lots of people. Ben's worried about you. And Nathan and Shanna. And your family."

The blanket was wearing thin. He could see shadows through it, and he could hear the beeping of medical equipment.

Where was he?

-=o=-

Judge Momoh sat up straight in his chair, cleared his throat, and began to speak. "Captain Benjamin Sisko petitioned this court, on behalf of Julian Bashir, for Bashir's right to refuse transfer orders.

"The laws relating to genetic enhancement came into being for a reason. Whether those reasons remain valid in the current age is beyond the scope of this case. Indeed, that is a question that is beyond of the power of this court to resolve. However, I will say, in my view, the fact that it was necessary to bring this case to court reflects poorly on a number of people and on our society, more generally.

"The case has clearly shown that evidence gathered in the last decade raises questions about our assumptions in relation to the genetically enhanced. Starfleet knew about this evidence and, if Starfleet did not actively suppress it, then it certainly didn't publicise it.

"Our culture accepts anti-Augment sentiments. Yet, I find it hard to reconcile the young man who sat in the witness box with any of the stereotypes to which we have become accustomed. Maybe he is an exception to a more general rule. Maybe not. However, one thing is clear: the deal that the Starfleet JAG struck with Richard Bashir _made_ him exceptional.

"Even if it were done with good intentions, the experimental approach taken by the JAG to ascertain society's receptiveness towards changes to the law was unethical. It indirectly caused a great deal of harm, both emotional and physical, to someone who was in no position to defend himself and who accepted the deal at face value. I am forced to concede, however, that the Judge Advocate General, Rear Admiral Bennett, has already recognised this for himself. I trust that no repeat of this...unfortunate...incident will occur." He paused, narrowed his eyes and peered intently at Bennett.

Momoh's voice dropped in pitch as he said grimly, "By contrast, I find nothing in Admiral Fischer's testimony or behaviours, or that of his staff, to suggest that any of them feel regret for their actions." He looked directly at Fischer and said, "No being should be subjected to the kind of wilful cruelty that Julian Bashir was. You wouldn't treat a dog or a cat like that, so why would you find it acceptable to treat any sentient being, genetically enhanced or otherwise, that way? Although beyond the purview of this court, I have been appalled by the behaviours of Starfleet Intelligence, and I strongly suggest that you, Admiral Fischer, clean house."

His voice lightened again slightly, and his posture relaxed, as he continued. "With regard to whether there is a culture of institutionalised prejudice in Starfleet, I find I can draw no firm conclusions from the evidence that has been presented here. If there is, it is not as strongly defined as that in wider society. Moreover, the prejudice is permitted by law.

"I do, however, note that the laws are in contradiction with the spirit of the deal offered to Richard Bashir. Therefore, with reference to this particular case, I determine that Julian Bashir should be given the right to refuse his transfer orders in accordance with Starfleet policies. Additionally, all LR policies and procedures must, in future, be applied to Julian Bashir as they would to any other member of the organisation. Finally, Starfleet must make every effort to find a role for Julian Bashir that is aligned as closely as possible to his qualifications and expertise."

Momoh turned to look at Hessayon and Sisko, and concluded by saying, "I trust that counsel will convey these findings in full to Julian Bashir as soon as he regains consciousness. This court is concluded."

Momoh stood up and swept out of the room.

-=o=-

Sisko paused on the threshold of Julian's room, and listened to his father talk. Joseph finished describing the best way to make a roux, then moved on to spices. "Now, I like a little extra cayenne in my—"

They'd be here all night, if he waited for his father to stop of his own accord, so Sisko interrupted him by tapping on the doorframe. Joseph fell silent, turned in his seat and then stood as Sisko beckoned him outside. The one visitor at a time rule was frustrating; neither of them wanted to leave Julian alone, terrified that he'd wake up while they were gone. They both thought it desperately important that Julian should find someone at his bedside when he finally opened his eyes.

"Well?" demanded Joseph.

"We won. Mostly, anyway. The important thing is that Julian can refuse the transfer."

Joseph placed a hand on his heart and said, "Thank God. Finally some good news! Now, you go in there and tell him!"

Sisko nodded and walked into Julian's room.

In the grand scheme of things, theirs was a tiny victory. Yet in Julian's situation, it was enormous. The single right that he had been given—the right to say "no"—shone out as a beacon amongst all the other limitations and restrictions to which he was still subject.

Such a little thing, the kind of thing Sisko had always taken for granted. Such a huge thing, the kind of thing that Julian had for too long feared would never again be possible for him.

Sisko sat down in the chair that Joseph had just vacated. The seat was still warm. He picked up Julian's right hand. Like the rest of Julian, it was long-boned and elegant and, like the rest of him, it was disconcertingly still.

Sisko captured Julian's hand between his own and leaned forward. Then he began to talk. "Julian? Julian... I wish I knew whether you could hear me, because I want you to hear this. I need you to hear this. Judge Momoh granted you the right to choose. You've got something to live for, so, Julian, come back to us. Please come back."


	27. Chapter 27

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

This is a relatively short post because that's the way the breaks in the chapters fell. I hope you all enjoy it, anyway. In case you are wondering, yes, the next one is longer.

Thanks again for your interest in this story. Bless you all for having the stamina to have made it this far! Thanks, as ever, to those of your who have reviewed, followed or favourited. You guys make me smile!

-=o=-

**Chapter Twenty-seven**

As Sisko wrapped his hands around his mug, he found himself wishing that the hospital cafeteria served raktajinos. The coffee was strong, black and sweet, but it tasted foul and it was failing miserably to perk him up.

A voice from above and to his left made him jump. "Captain Sisko? May I join you?"

Without waiting for an answer, Elizabeth Lilienfeld unceremoniously dropped a shoulder bag on the table and then thumped her mug down hard enough that a few drops of liquid splattered over its rim. She pulled a chair out, letting its feet scrape across the floor. The resultant screech made Sisko wince.

Lilienfeld sat down. "How is he?" She didn't bother saying who she meant. She didn't need to; it was obvious that she was talking about Julian.

"You sound like you might actually care," said Sisko.

"I do care," said Lilienfeld.

"A lot of people don't," said Sisko flatly, "so, forgive me, if I sound sceptical."

"Well, I'm not most people." Lilienfeld scrabbled around in her bag, retrieved a PADD, and held it out to Sisko. "Here. You might want to see this, if you haven't already. I think you might find it interesting."

"What is it?"

"An article I wrote. It went out in today's FNS newsfeed. Have you seen it?"

Sisko shook his head as he took hold of the PADD. He glanced at the headline: "The True Face of Evil: the Augment or the Man?" Sisko glanced across at her, his brows raised in a silent question.

"I know Julian dislikes being called an Augment," said Lilienfeld, "but I think it works in the context of the article."

"The term has unfortunate connotations. Besides, Julian likes scientific precision, and the processes used to create the twentieth-century Augments were different to the ones the doctors used on him."

Lilienfeld nodded, wordlessly acknowledging his points. "Read. Please."

Sisko turned his attention back to the PADD.

-=o=-

_I went looking for the Augment of legend. Not the legends of old, but the one that has been created in the last few weeks, a mythical being created by a perfect storm of politics, speculation, fear and hype. The modern legend speaks of evil incarnate, of a deceiver with a cavalier disregard for the law._

_What I found was something quite different._

_The first time I saw Julian Bashir was at a disciplinary tribunal, when the Federation's Medical Standards Board struck him off the medical register. Bashir and the legal representative assigned to defend him were unsettled by the spectacle the tribunal had become and were rendered ineffectual by the forces opposing them. The result was a foregone conclusion, the decision made by the twelve-person panel long before Bashir opened his mouth to speak in his own defence. The only possible reason for holding the tribunal was to show that justice—or, in this case, injustice—was being done._

_The second time I saw Julian Bashir was in the celebrated Sisko's restaurant in New Orleans. I almost did not recognise him. He was wearing civilian clothes—dark pants and one of the restaurant's uniform shirts—and he was waiting on me. "I'm just helping out," he said._

_The third time I saw Julian Bashir was at the San Francisco courthouse, where he was fighting for the right to decline a transfer to a different Service within Starfleet._

_The last time I saw Julian Bashir was outside the courthouse as he lay seizing, hanging between life and death, phasered down by Samil Fahid, aide and confidant of Shadow Minister Without Portfolio, Shiva Ghazi._

_Julian Bashir grew up fearing society's reaction to his enhancements and, when they became public knowledge, society proved his fears to be all too valid. _

_Should we vilify Bashir for what he is, his parents for what they made him into, or ourselves for what we forced him to do to survive? If Julian Bashir lied and deceived, it is only because society left him with no other realistic options. Julian Bashir is as much a creation of Federation values and prejudices as he is of the surgeons who altered his genome._

_What of the man who phasered him? Was he a protestor? A rioter? Or was he simply an ambitious man, who wanted to keep a dirty little family secret hidden?_

_Samil Fahid was not only the heir apparent to Shiva Ghazi's political empire, he is also Julian Bashir's maternal uncle. _

_Who wears the true face of evil in that family? The "Augment" or the man?_

_Julian Bashir was, even according to his detractors, a gifted physician. What the detractors refuse to acknowledge is that he is also compassionate, dedicated and idealistic. Would evil incarnate chose a life dedicated to the care and treatment of others? Would it "just help out" in a restaurant when there was a staffing crisis?_

_Julian Bashir is not dead yet, although there are those who undoubtedly regret that fact. Bashir's death would make for an easier, neater resolution to this story. _

_For the rest of us, there is cause for hope. There is still the chance for a happy ending, both for Julian Bashir and for our collective conscience. But that happy ending requires more than for Bashir to wake up from his coma. It also requires forgiveness and understanding from all parties. What we decide, how we move forward from here, will show the true nature of the society we live in and of what we want it to be._

_-=o=-_

Underneath the article, Sisko found a bulleted list outlining key points in Julian's life, from birth, through enhancement, enrolment at and graduation from Starfleet Academy, nomination for the Carrington Award, imprisonment at the hands of the Dominion, to the revelation of his enhancements.

Another list detailed key events from the last few weeks, and a text box summarised the laws relating to the genetically enhanced. Set out so starkly, even Sisko, who was familiar with them, was shocked at how discriminatory the laws were.

"From sinner to saint in less than a thousand words," said Sisko wryly. "Do you honestly think it'll make a difference?"

"Honestly? No, not really. But if it gets people thinking, it'll be a start."

Sisko and Lilienfeld sat in not-quite companionable silence for a while, taking occasional sips from their drinks.

Eventually, Lilienfeld said, "The coffee in your father's restaurant is much better than this."

"Even the muck out of Deep Space Nine's replicators is better," said Sisko.

Lilienfeld broke the next lull in the conversation when she said abruptly, "I think it might have been my fault that Fahid went after Bashir like that."

"Oh?" said Sisko.

"I wanted the story. So I dogged Fahid. Pestered him and his wife, and Shiva Ghazi, for that matter. I also pressured the police to question Fahid, though, to be frank, they didn't seem to care very much. I think they wanted Julian to be guilty." She paused, then continued. "As for Fahid, himself... He doesn't come across as the most stable personality."

"So, you're saying..."

"Fahid went after Amsha Bashir to protect his position. He stabbed Julian Bashir in your father's kitchen because Julian got in his way. But he shot Julian because he hates him and because he was angry and because he had nothing left to lose. The shooting was premeditated, and motivated by revenge." Lilienfeld shook her head. "If I hadn't gone after him, maybe he wouldn't have gone after Julian."

"You don't know that."

"Not for sure, no." But Sisko could tell from the way she said the words that she believed it.

Sisko tapped his forefinger against his mug. Then he said, "If you hadn't gone after Fahid, it'd only have been a matter of time before Julian and I did. You only precipitated events. You didn't cause them."

"H'm," grunted Lilienfeld, and Sisko could see she was filing the idea away for future deliberation. Then she returned to her earlier question. "So, how is he?"

"Still in a coma," Sisko said. "Dad's sitting with him. Dad set up a rota, to make sure that someone's with Julian at all times. In fact, I need to get going. It's almost time for me to take over from him." He stood up.

Lilienfeld nodded, absorbing the information. Then, just as Sisko was about to leave, she said, "And you? How are you doing?"

Sisko glanced down at her and shrugged. "Better than Julian."

-=o=-

"...Shanna sends you her best wishes, and Patti has drawn you a picture. Here...I'll put it on the cabinet, where you'll be able to see it, when you wake up..."

-=o=-

In the immediate aftermath of the shooting, adrenaline and the need to deal with the emergency had given Sisko energy to deal with the crisis. He'd sat with Julian, coping...hoping...talking. But now that the immediate crisis had passed, Sisko's hours had settled into a weird kind of anticlimactic limbo. The waiting and not knowing were insidiously exhausting.

Neither Sisko nor Joseph wanted Julian to be left alone. However, their other commitments, including the restaurant, Sisko's endless round of meetings, and their need to eat and sleep, meant that they couldn't sit with Julian twenty-four hours a day.

Joseph's rota provided a neat solution. Initially, the rota had just included people from the restaurant, with Nathan, Grant, Jonas and Felicia all eager to take turns. However, as word spread and messages of concern poured in, the list of helpers grew. Now it included Julian's Uncle Lionel, Hessayon, Loews, and even unexpected people like Lilienfeld and Magnusdottir. Thus, from visit to visit, Sisko never quite knew who he would find sitting next to Julian's bed.

Julian's sitters quickly changed from being a disparate collection of individuals to a tight-knit group, bound together, at least temporarily, by a common cause.

Sisko quickly grew used to seeing Julian's supporters sitting together in twos and threes in the hospital's cafeteria, swapping information and getting to know each other better. Indeed, Sisko took part in the conversations when he had the time, and it heartened him to see just how many, and how much, people cared.

He knew Julian would be astonished at this outpouring of concern, and Sisko hoped that Julian would come out of his coma to find out about it. More than that, he hoped that he'd be around to see Julian's face when Julian discovered the lengths some people would go to, to help him.

Even with the rota in place, Sisko spent as much time as he could at Julian's bedside, and he quickly found out that there were only so many times he could implore Julian to wake up, and there was only a finite number of reassurances he could give that Julian had something positive to live for—not that that stopped him from saying them anyway.

Sisko had moved on from talking about Julian's life and their shared experiences to talking about anything and nothing. He talked about his own childhood, and what it had been like to grow up in New Orleans. He talked about losing his mother, of sibling rivalry, of the joy he'd felt the first time he'd held Jake in his arms. He talked about Jennifer and Kasidy, and the ways in which they were different and yet they made him feel the same. He talked about Dax, reminiscing about how they'd met and the scrapes they'd got into afterwards.

He sighed and said, "Even if you can hear me, I can't believe you could possibly be interested in what I'm telling you."

-=o=-

Karen Loews sat down uninvited. Sisko didn't mind. In his current mood, he found himself grateful for the company and for the distraction. The cafeteria coffee didn't improve any on prolonged acquaintance but, even though his turn at sitting with Julian wasn't due to start for over an hour, he hadn't been able to keep away from the hospital or to bring himself to go in search of anything better.

"You're done visiting Julian, then?" Sisko asked.

"Yes. Felicia's with him now." Karen took a sip from her mug and grimaced. "Ugh! This tea's cold."

"And?"

"It tastes disgusting," said Loews. "Oh, you're still talking about Julian... He'll come out of it."

Sisko thought about the inert body in Intensive Care, about the sombre faces of the nurses, and the monotonous beeping of the diagnostic panels. "Is that a medical opinion, or is that you being hopeful?"

"A bit of both, if I'm honest. He's a fit, healthy young man. If anyone could pull through something like this, it should be him."

"But...?"

"But he's got to want to pull through, too."

There were things hidden in Loews's words that made Sisko want to shiver. "You think he might just give up? Stop fighting?"

"I think he might have been tempted to at one point."

Sisko remembered finding Julian in the bathroom and how distraught he'd been then, and he remembered various conversations since. Finally, he remembered Telnorri's warnings: it was a wonder that Julian coped as well as he did. He knew Loews was right, and that knowledge chilled him.

"He still might be tempted," she continued. "Although, I don't think so. He's been much more upbeat since his last visit to the Institute. I think his talk with the others must have really helped him. Plus, after the court case, he's got more to live for than before, and, if he can hear what people are saying to him then he'll know that. So I'm hopeful."

Sisko had also noticed a change in Julian's behaviour after his most recent visit to the Institute, and he found himself asking, "What did Julian and your patients talk about? Julian didn't say. Do you know?"

Loews frowned. "Mathematics, I think."

"Math? Why would that put him in a good mood?"

I don't know." She lapsed into silence. Then she said, "Captain... May I talk to you?"

His lips twitched. "I thought you already were."

"Yes. Well. This is about a rather...delicate...matter. And I could do with some advice."

"All right... Go on."

"How much has Julian told you about my patients?"

"Not a lot. Although he mentioned that he was...unhappy...about the restrictions put on them."

"Restrictions like them not being allowed to access the Federation News Service?"

"Yes."

"Well, good news. I got that one rescinded. They've been glued to the news feed ever since. They've been particularly interested in following Julian's story."

Sisko nodded. "I guess that makes sense. They've met him, and they've got something in common."

"Yes. The thing is..." She took a deep breath, then ploughed on. "How much do you know about Pierre Delon?"

"Only what Julian has told me and what I picked up at the tribunal. He's chair of the Medical Standards Board. Julian used to go out with his daughter. And he's an outspoken opponent of genetic engineering."

Loews nodded. "Right. But... One of my patients—Jack... Well, not to put too fine a point on it, he was dumped on the Institute's doorstep when he was five. There is no surname on his records, but Patrick, another of the patients, remembers him arriving. You have to understand: my patients are all enhanced. They all have eidetic memories. So, if Patrick says he remembers something, he remembers it."

"All right... Go on."

"When he saw some footage of Pierre Delon, Patrick got very excited and said that he knew him, that Delon was the man who'd brought Jack to the Institute."

"I'm sorry, but I don't quite see where you're going with this."

Loews sighed. "Neither do I, exactly, which is why I wanted to talk to you. Pierre Delon dumped a child on the Institute and left without completing the paperwork properly. That in itself is unprofessional. But Patrick seems to think that... Actually, I'm not sure what Patrick thinks. But the whole thing reeks of double standards and, possibly, a cover up."

Sisko sucked on his lower lip thoughtfully and toyed with his coffee mug. He'd let the last third of the drink go cold rather than gag on it anymore, and the liquid slopped against the ceramic. He made a leap of logic and ventured, "You think finding the dirt on Delon might be the key to helping Julian with his appeal?"

Loews threw her hands up in dismay. "I don't know what I think! But you and I both know that Julian's tribunal was a farce, just like Lilienfeld wrote. And I think I want to know why."

Sisko nodded slowly. "Then, perhaps, the person most likely to be able to figure that out is Elizabeth Lilienfeld, herself."

-=o=-

He didn't need to see the readouts to know what the noises meant. That he could hear the beeps at all told him that his condition was improving. Plus, he was as fluent in medical diagnostics as he was in Federation Standard.

Maybe in a few days—or weeks or hours or minutes; time had little meaning in the cocoon—he would be able to open his eyes.

-=o=-

Sisko hoped that a story might be more interesting than the jumbled recollections of his life, and so he started reading to Julian.

He found an action-adventure novel. The story was set in one of the wars that had taken place in the first half of Earth's twentieth-century, and its hero was inclined towards improbable acts of daring-do and bravery. Sisko doubted that the tale was historically very accurate.

Weren't the Dutch and the Germans supposed to be on opposing sides? And had there ever been a Princess Cordelia Trixibell of England, let alone one who'd eloped with the Sultan of Katmanistan? Come to that, was Katmanistan even a real place?

The politics of the story were beyond Sisko's comprehension. Actually, he suspected that they were beyond the _author's_ comprehension, and that Carruthers-Smythe's orders to track down the errant princess had more to do with the author's desire to throw them in each other's arms and beds than with national security. How was the Luftwaffe managing to bomb Asia, anyway?

Sisko flicked to the end of the novel and scanned the author's biography. He snorted in amusement. "What do you know?" he asked his silent companion. "The novel was written by a Tellarite, who claims that one of his or her ancestors was human, and came from the British Isles. I wonder whether the biography is any more plausible than the novel."

Sisko found his place again, and picked up where he'd left off. The novel wasn't to Sisko's usual taste, but Lionel had told him about Julian's preference for stories set prior to the Eugenics Wars. Mindful of Julian's delight at having to do voices for Patti, Sisko put some effort into his reading, although he doubted that he was doing Carruthers-Smythe's accent justice.

-=o=-

"Julian? Can you hear me?"

Yes, Uncle Lionel, I can hear you. Fat lot of good that does me, when I can't reply. But I'm glad you're here.

-=o=-

Sisko looked up from his latest cup of so-called coffee and said, surprised, "Theo! What brings you here?"

"You," he said. Then, his voice cooling by at least ten degrees, he added, "Bashir."

Sisko, irritated by Garland's attitude, felt his eyes narrow. He tried to stifle both the emotion and his response.

"I went to the restaurant. Your father said I'd find you here," said Garland.

Sisko said, "Did you want to talk to Julian?"

"Not really, no." Garland shook his head.

"Because he's still in a coma," said Sisko pointedly, annoyed that Garland hadn't bothered to ask how Julian was.

"You're his Advocate. You'll do," said Garland.

"Go on, then," said Sisko. "What are you here for?"

Garland said, "I wanted you to let you know that the investigation into Amsha Bashir's murder has been officially closed."

"Fahid did it."

"Yes. And he's confessed. He also confessed to the attempted murder of Julian Bashir."

"Which attempt? The one where he got caught, and where there were plenty of witnesses? Or the one in my father's restaurant?"

"Both."

"I take it that means that Julian's off the hook, and that the travel restrictions have been lifted? That he can go off planet?"

"What? Oh, yes. He can go wherever he wants. Assuming, of course, that wherever he goes wants him, too." The way Garland said it, it sounded like he thought it was highly unlikely that anywhere would ever willingly welcome Julian.

Sisko was finding it increasingly difficult to ignore Garland's tone. "And Amsha's body? When will that be released?" he asked.

"It has been. Her family organised its collection several days ago."

"So, when and where is the funeral to take place?"

"Yesterday. A cemetery in some god-forsaken place I'd never even heard of."

"While Julian is conveniently in a coma," suggested Sisko bitterly.

"Yes." At least Garland had the decency to look just a little bit embarrassed, although Sisko thought that Garland had a heck of a lot more than a little to be embarrassed about.

"Tell me," said Sisko bitterly, "what have you got against Julian? I really want to know."

"He...gives me the willies."

"Julian does?"

"It's not him, exactly. It's more...the idea of him. Of what he is."

"Julian's a perfectly normal guy , or he would be, if people would give him the chance to be one. You know, I defended you to him, told him that you were okay. But you can't even stand the thought of being in the same room as him, can you? Not if you can help it."

"You're right," said Garland. "I don't want to spend time with him, if I don't have to. I'm not proud of that, but it's just the way things are."

Garland and Sisko stared at each other, and Sisko felt the last vestiges of a childhood friendship evaporate.

"Well, I've done what I came here for," said Garland. "So...I guess...Maybe I'll see you around."

Sisko nodded, the closest he could bring himself to actually saying good-bye.

-=o=-

Did you catch him?

I think you told me you did, but my memory isn't working too well at the moment.

How long have I been here?

-=o=-

Carruthers-Smythe scaled a sheer cliff with one arm cradled in a sling, blood dripping from a lacerated thigh and two cracked ribs, and yet the worst language he let pass his stiff upper lip was, "Oh, gosh, golly," and the comment that, "this is a tad uncomfortable."

Sisko paused to snigger to himself as he imagined the language Chief O'Brien would come out with under similar circumstances. Then he glanced across at Julian.

Julian's lips parted on a sigh, and he whispered, "Go on. Wanna know what happens next..."

"Julian!" shouted Sisko. "You're awake! How long have you been awake? Hold on, let me get the doctor..."

Sisko threw down the PADD, leapt to his feet, and rushed into the corridor, calling as he went. Then, moments later, he was back at Julian's side, grinning with relief.

He sat back down, grabbed Julian's hand and said, "How are you feeling?"

Julian's eyes half-opened and his lips twitched into the merest approximation of a smile. Putting on his most exaggerated toff accent, Julian managed to say, "A tad uncomfortable, sir."

Sisko couldn't help himself. He let out a loud guffaw, knowing that it had more to do with released tension and worry than with a genuine appreciation of Julian's attempt at humour.

The doctor and a nurse bustled in and started poking and prodding their patient. They talked to Julian just long enough to determine that he was alert and coherent, and then they pumped him full of painkillers and left, advising him to rest.

Sisko eyed their departure, wondering whether they were that brusque with everybody, or whether that particular manner was reserved especially for Julian. He wasn't sure that he wanted to know the answer.

When Sisko turned his attention back to Julian, he saw that Julian was watching him, tracking Sisko with his eyes but still too weak to move his head. "How long...?" he asked.

"Six days. We've been worried about you."

"That's nice," whispered Julian.

"How much do you remember?" asked Sisko, then he wondered whether that was a stupid question. Would Julian have any way to gauge what he'd forgotten?

"I was shot."

"Yes."

"By...Fahid?"

"Yes. You remember that?"

"I think...someone told me." A frown marred Julian's forehead.

So, Julian did remember at least something of what he'd been told while he was in his coma.

"Do you remember me telling you about Judge Momoh's ruling?"

"Not sure," said Julian. "Might have been a dream... Good dream..."

"It wasn't a dream."

Julian's eyes opened more fully, and Sisko told him once more what Momoh had decided.

When he was done, Julian's eyes drifted shut again, and Sisko saw a tear slide down the side of Julian's face. Worried, he said, "Julian? What's wrong?"

"Nothing... Happy tears... Relieved..." and then Julian was asleep.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter Twenty-eight**

Given the nature and severity of his injuries, Julian made a surprisingly quick recovery. Something-Matteus and Karen Loews had done an excellent job with his surgery. While preventing the formation of new scars, they had even gone the extra mile to remove the old ones left over from Julian's stay in the Dominion internment camp.

After regaining consciousness, Julian spent another twenty-four hours in intensive care. Then he was transferred to a post-surgery ward, where he was given a bed in a quiet alcove that was set apart from the rest of the patients.

Julian wasn't sure what to think about that. The hospital staff told him that the bed had been chosen out of concern for his privacy, but Julian suspected that was just a weaselly way of justifying his segregation, and Julian resented all that implied. However, Julian knew that, had the choice been left to him, this was the bed he'd have chosen for himself.

Julian's alcove had the added bonus of a window—not that he could see much from his preferred position of lying on his side to favour the still healing wounds. He could just about make out the sky, any clouds that happened to drift into view, and the occasional shuttlecraft or runabout coming in to land. However, as he slept a lot, at least to begin with, the view was largely irrelevant.

-=o=-

Once Julian was officially out of danger and safely settled on the new ward, Sisko told him about Garland's visit, the closing of the murder case, and about Amsha Bashir's funeral. Julian lay quietly while Sisko talked, and Sisko wasn't sure what to make of his silence. Was it stoical or resigned? Quietly seething or accepting? Any or all of those reactions would have been understandable.

Once Sisko was done, Julian tried to roll onto his injured side so that he could look away. He gasped, a sharp intake of pained breath, and he aborted the movement. He collapsed onto his back and had to settle for just turning his head.

Julian said, "I think I'd like to sleep now," and Sisko interpreted correctly that sleep offered the only privacy that was within Julian's grasp.

"I'm sorry," said Sisko uselessly.

"Not your fault," mumbled Julian.

"I know that. But, still, I'm sorry."

Julian nodded, but didn't say anything more.

"I'll come back later, okay?"

Julian didn't answer. Sisko chose to take his silence to be agreement, and he quietly left Julian alone.

-=o=-

Julian feigned sleep for a long time after Sisko left as he worked his way through a confusion of emotions.

To know that he was finally free of suspicion... To know that he had the freedom to travel again... Those things meant more to him that he had realised. A weight he hadn't consciously been aware of lifted from his shoulders.

However, sorrow and resentment mingled with his relief. It had been bad enough to have been discounted as Amsha's son in the eyes of the law but, now, for her body to have been released to strangers for burial... That compounded his grief.

But they hadn't been strangers to her, had they? Only to him...

-=o=-

Julian was properly asleep, rather than pretending, when Sisko returned. Sisko looked down at him and felt a profound sadness. Julian looked peaceful when he was asleep in a way that he no longer did when he was awake.

Awake, Julian had lost the air of childlike enthusiasm that he'd carried with him to Deep Space Nine almost five years before. He no longer looked boyish, his expression worn by experience rather than by the passage of time into something more mature and sombre. Sisko knew that life's knocks could do that to a person, but not usually so fast nor so permanently.

Then again, Sisko didn't know anyone else who'd been so variously used and abused, or who had to worry from person to person how they'd react to his mere existence.

Garland, more than anyone, had brought that home to Sisko. Sisko had known Garland since boyhood—or, rather, Sisko had thought he'd known him.

Judith's reaction to having Julian stay in the family home had offended him, but Judith hadn't met Julian, and Sisko kidded himself that, if she did, and given time, she'd come around. He had to believe that. She was his sister.

But Garland... Garland had met Julian, and Garland still couldn't see past the labels.

So, how did Julian feel every time an old friend or acquaintance turned away from him? People like Pierre Delon...or Palis...or Arthur Bratwell? How did it feel to have to worry about strangers and friends alike, all day, every day?

Sisko sighed. No wonder Julian cherished acceptance whenever and wherever he found it.

Julian had feared discovery for half his life. How had the reality compared with his fears? Was it better or worse, or merely different?

-=o=-

In some ways, waking up in hospital reminded Julian of how things had been after his return from the Gamma Quadrant. Events had put his life on hold, but the rest of the universe had continued on its way, regardless. Now, as then, he was having to play catch-up to figure out how he fitted into the new order of things.

Despite the similarities, however, the two experiences were different. For one thing, he wasn't missing so much time, this time. For another, his absence hadn't gone unnoticed.

Julian was touched by how much people—particularly Sisko, but others too—had missed him, and it did much to mend the old hurts. People did care, know and notice when he was gone, and Julian found himself looking forward to waking up to someone sitting next to his bed and smiling at him, never quite knowing from one waking to the next who it would be.

Julian's steady stream of visitors filled in some of the missing details for him. He filled in more gaps as he gradually caught up on his messages.

Most of the messages were friendly wishes for a speedy recovery, although a few were less polite. Plus, buried—almost lost—in the midst of the backlog of correspondence was a terse note from the MSB, informing him that the date for his appeal had been set.

-=o=-

Professor Hessayon came, bringing with him a small package, which he held out. Julian took the gift and turned it over and over in his hands, savouring it before he slowly unwrapped it.

As he carefully peeled off the paper, Julian mused that Patrick wasn't the only person who liked gifts to come wrapped.

Julian opened the small box that Hessayon had given him and found a data rod inside. He looked at Hessayon, his eyebrows raised in a silent question.

Hessayon explained. "Most people bring fruit. Never much cared for grapes, myself, so I brought you something else. Call it a souvenir, if you like, or something to look forward to, for when you're feeling better. It's a holoprogramme. Cordova. Fishing."

Julian's face creased into a wide smile. "Thank you. That's very thoughtful." He closed the box and carefully set it aside.

Hessayon began to quiz Julian about how he was feeling and how the hospital staff was treating him. However, there was only so long that they could dodge around more serious topics.

Hessayon confirmed what Sisko had already told him: Momoh had ruled that Julian could refuse the transfer to Intelligence. Then Hessayon gave Julian a copy of the transcript of the entire ruling.

As Julian read, Hessayon said, "Momoh couldn't find any evidence to prove that Starfleet is institutionally prejudiced."

Julian nodded and told himself that he shouldn't be disappointed.

"It's pretty obvious that he thinks Starfleet is, though," Hessayon said.

Julian blinked. "Really?" he asked. Somehow, hearing Momoh's opinion cheered him, even though it also hurt to know that the organisation he idolised had failed so spectacularly to live up to its own ideals.

"Yes. Really. He invited me to visit him yesterday; he said he wanted to talk to me. And, as it turned out, what he wanted to talk to me about was you. For one thing, even if he couldn't do anything about the Advocacy and employment laws, himself, he thinks you should be encouraged to try to get them changed."

Julian wasn't sure what to think about that, so he shelved the question for a moment and said, "And for another...?"

"I don't want to worry you, but he—we—thought you would want to know..."

"Know what?"

"During the trial, I submitted the recording of the holosuite programme as evidence. Oh, don't look like that! You knew I'd have to do it. And, just so you know, Momoh agreed that the only other people who needed to see the whole thing were Yilmaz and himself."

Relieved that the recording hadn't been made public, Julian sank back against the pillows. Then he frowned, because he realised that Hessayon hadn't got to the point yet.

Hessayon sighed. "Momoh was appalled. Understandably. So he took it upon himself to hand a copy over to the authorities."

"So more people will have seen it," said Julian softly.

"Well...yes. And I'm sorry about that. But they'll be discreet. It's not in anyone's interest to have its contents circulated widely."

Julian sighed and shook his head. Maybe Hessayon was right but, as far as he was concerned, one extra person seeing the recording was one person too many. It was personal and painful, and the thought that it was out there somewhere unnerved him.

"There's more, isn't there?" said Julian.

"Yes," said Hessayon. "The prosecutors said that there were clearly grounds for charging Sinart, Williamson, Johnson and Gray. However, because she wasn't around when the worst of the assault took place, they were less confident that they'd be able to make a case stick against Roughsedge. At best, they might be able to get a conviction for her being an accessory. As for Fischer..."

"What about Fischer?" asked Julian, but he had a feeling that he already knew.

"There's not enough evidence to tie him directly to the assault. They won't press charges."

Julian looked down and picked absentmindedly at the bedsheet. Quietly, he said, "He had to have known."

"I suspect so, yes. And, for what it's worth, so does Momoh. But...there's not enough evidence."

"I understand," said Julian quietly. He didn't like it, but he understood.

Hessayon sighed. "There's more."

"More?" exclaimed Julian, dismayed. "What kind of more?"

"When the police went to bring Sinart and the others in for questioning, they'd disappeared."

"Disappeared how? Where?"

"Starfleet is saying that they've all gone AWOL."

"You don't believe it," said Julian.

"I don't disbelieve it," said Hessayon. "But I'm sceptical. In order for people to disappear that thoroughly, they usually need help."

"You think someone helped them to vanish? Fischer?"

"Possibly. Or Roughsedge. Or someone else entirely. But, who better than someone with experience in covert intelligence operations?"

Julian sighed slowly. "So, they're all going to escape prosecution. They're all going to get off Scot free."

"It looks that way, yes. I'm sorry."

"Me, too," said Julian, although a treacherous part of him was relieved. There would be no need for the recording to be circulated further, and he wouldn't be required to give evidence.

They sat together in silence for a minute or so. Julian picked at the bedding some more.

Finally, Julian looked up again. "About Fischer..."

"What about him?"

"The argument we overheard. Just before I was shot. I never got a chance to tell you about it."

"I'd forgotten about that," admitted Hessayon, "what with everything else that's happened since."

"I couldn't hear everything, but I got the impression that he was threatening Yilmaz."

Hessayon frowned. "Threatening her? How? With what?"

"I couldn't make that out," said Julian. "But, whatever it was, it had something to do with her brother. She denied it, whatever it was, but..."

"But?"

"I don't know. All I know is that Fischer's not a nice man, and I'm extremely lucky that I won't be working for him."

Hessayon nodded.

They sat quietly while Julian considered what Hessayon had told him. Then, tentatively, Julian said, "Is that everything?"

"Yes," said Hessayon, with a small smile. "That's everything."

"Nothing more that I need to know about Fischer or Sinart, or anyone else?"

"No."

"And... There isn't anything else hidden in the terms of the ruling or the law that I should know about?"

"No."

"You're sure?"

"Yes. I'm sure."

"I had to ask," said Julian, "because I don't want to have to go through anything like that again. I don't want to find any more loose ends or loopholes. No more surprises."

Hessayon nodded, and Julian could tell that Hessayon understood and sympathised with his concerns.

Hessayon reassured him. "There's plenty left on the statute books that's nasty, but none of it's surprising. And, now we've got a toe in the door, we can start fighting some of that, too. If you want. When you're ready."

Julian wasn't sure that he'd ever be ready. But then, was it fair that he now had so much freedom, but Lauren and the others still had none?

"Society won't change overnight," said Hessayon. "We're talking about a seismic shift in our belief system. But things can change. Be optimistic that things can get better, given time. And things will change faster if we hurry them along a bit."

Did Julian dare to dream of a future where things might be better, not just for himself, but also for other people like him?

Should he fight on? The more freedoms he gained, the closer he could come to extending them to the others. The rights he'd won so far, he'd won because he was different from the other mutants. His circumstances had set him apart.

He still wanted to be emancipated...

And if, one day, he could overturn the citizenship laws...

But, before any of that, more than anything, he wanted to get his medical licence back.

"What are you thinking?" asked Hessayon.

"That I'm tired. But that, one day... And about what I'd like to fight for first."

-=o=-

Before the shooting, had Julian given it any thought—which he hadn't—he would have concluded that Magret Magnusdottir would have been most unlikely to ever want to see him socially. Yet, according to Sisko, she was one of the people who had offered to sit with him and, the next time he awoke, he found her sitting in the visitor's chair, quietly reading a PADD.

He shifted. She looked up at the movement, and her face split into a warm smile. "You're awake!" she said. "I thought you might sleep through the whole of this visit, like you have all my others."

Before he could censure himself, Julian found himself asking, "Why are you here?"

"To see you, of course."

"But, why?"

"Because I wanted to. That surprises you?"

"Frankly, yes."

"Why?"

Julian opened his mouth to answer and found that he couldn't. There were too many reasons he could have voiced, and he wasn't sure which was the right one. They barely knew one another. Despite evidence to the contrary, he still didn't expect people to care about him enough to visit. He hadn't imagined that it would cross Magnusdottir's mind to be concerned for him, particularly as she was one of the people who—however inadvertently—had orchestrated the chain of events that had led him here.

He'd thought Joseph and the others at Sisko's were exceptions to the more general rule that strangers didn't deem him worthy of concern or consideration.

Yet here she was.

Magnusdottir watched him, the smile slipping off her face at the same time as a concerned frown etched itself on her forehead. "Oh, I see. You didn't think I would care enough to come."

"There's no reason why you should."

"Whether or not a person likes someone is seldom based on reason."

"You like me?"

"Of course. I thought that was obvious. I'm here, aren't I?"

"You're here because you like me, and I should realise that you like me because you're here?"

"Exactly." Magnusdottir huffed good-naturedly. She reached out and took his hand in hers. Julian watched with wary eyes and forced himself not to pull away. "I was worried about you," she said.

"That's nice of you," he said, and it was, even if he didn't understand her concern. "As you can see, I'm mending."

Julian made an effort to make small talk, and Magnusdottir good-naturedly joined in. They discussed the hospital food, the weather and books, before Magnusdottir turned the conversation onto more serious territory.

She started by congratulating Julian on the outcome of the court case.

"You don't mind?" Julian asked.

"Of course not," said Magnusdottir, sounding surprised at the question. "Why would I mind?"

"I don't know," said Julian uncertainly. "I suppose I thought you might think I was being ungrateful about the deal, and that the ruling might not have reflected well on you."

"That's our problem, not yours." Magnusdottir sighed. "I'm sorry for everything we put you through. We didn't have an outcome in mind when we...did what we did. We simply wanted to test people's reactions. We wanted to see whether society was ready to accept genetically enhanced people in its midst. Although, quite frankly, had we anticipated the...extreme...reaction we've seen, I doubt we'd have bothered." She looked at Julian and said, "Would it have been kinder simply to have applied the law and have had done with it?"

Would it? Julian wondered.

He'd expected the law to have been applied, and he'd been astonished by the deal. Undoubtedly, it would have been easier to have simply resigned or been cashiered from the service. Maybe his father would have escaped a prison sentence. His mother would almost certainly still be alive. He wouldn't have been stabbed or shot.

But would it have been kinder? True, he, and people close to him, had been hurt. But Julian could move forward from here. He had hope that he would be allowed to do something worthwhile with his life, and he had an element of choice that at one point had seemed impossible. He shook his head and he heard himself say, "Maybe I'm being selfish, but I can't bring myself to regret what has happened."

That was as close to forgiveness as Julian could offer.

Magnusdottir relaxed slightly, and Julian realised that she'd been tense before. He hadn't noticed.

"What will you do now?" she asked.

"I don't know," said Julian. He let himself smile for a fleeting second as he said, "All I know for sure is that I won't be working for Intelligence."

"Beyond that?"

Julian tried to make his answer into a joke, but he couldn't hide his uncertainty. "If I don't win my appeal...who knows? Maybe I'll stick to waitering."

Magnusdottir considered Julian carefully, then said, "What I don't understand is why no-one wants to claim you."

"Claim me?" asked Julian, his eyebrows rising.

"That may not be the nicest way to put it, but, yes. You'd be an asset—a credit—to any service, and yet only Intelligence offered you a position." She shrugged slightly, a gesture that Julian thought seemed out of character for her.

"As a group, the genetically enhanced aren't very popular," he said.

Magnusdottir shook her head. "I'm confused. Your team went to a great deal of trouble in court to suggest that the genetically enhanced aren't all the same, yet you say that, like you don't believe it."

"I do believe it," said Julian. "It has taken time, and I still have moments of doubt. But it's not what I believe that's important. It's what other people think that matters, and there are plenty of people who think that all genetically enhanced people are evil, and that we should all be locked away."

Magnusdottir nodded slowly. "You do realise, when Hunter said that at the tribunal, he was trying to win the argument. It doesn't mean that he actually thinks it's true."

Julian's lips twitched with a hint of wry derision. "If he doesn't believe it, then he's a damned good actor!"

"Which is why he's such a good prosecutor."

Julian sighed. "Even if he doesn't believe it, there are plenty of people out there who do."

Magnusdottir nodded. "I know that. But my point is, not everyone feels that way. I know people who don't, people who'd be happy to work with you: medics; scientists... When I mentioned you to a friend in Science, she said they'd be delighted to have you. I know she approached her commanding officer, but after that... Nothing happened, almost as if the request got buried."

Julian considered what Magnusdottir had said. He was grateful to know that someone had wanted him, but he also knew that the mere fact that he'd been enhanced was enough reason for the request to have been quietly put to one side.

Oblivious to his thoughts, Magnusdottir continued thinking aloud. "So why aren't the different branches fighting over you? You should have been inundated with offers, not presented with only one option."

-=o=-

Elizabeth Lilienfeld dropped by the following afternoon and, once she'd got her apology over with, she overflowed with wry amusement at the vagaries of politics and politicians.

"Shiva Ghazi has been rushing to distance himself from Fahid and from his own daughter. Turns out, they killed Ghazi's son and then Fahid married the daughter, inveigling his way into one of the most powerful families on Earth." Lilienfeld couldn't help herself; she laughed. "No matter how hard Ghazi tries, there is no way he's going to be able to shake off this scandal. And it couldn't have happened to a more deserving politician!"

"Some family, huh," said Julian. "My father's in prison for illegal genetic engineering. My uncle killed my mother and tried to kill me, too. Twice."

"Maybe you should be grateful that, legally, they're not your family."

"No. Uncle Lionel was right. Amsha Bashir gave birth to me. They're mine, whether I like it or not."

Perversely, Julian did like it. Back on Deep Space Nine, he'd taken the first hesitant steps towards reconciliation with his father. Uncle Lionel and the rest of the Bashirs had welcomed him wholeheartedly into their family. Plus, even if he didn't think much of his mother's family, at least knowing about them gave him a stronger connection with his past. He liked knowing where he'd come from. He felt more connected with the rest of the human race than he'd done at any time since he was fifteen.

-=o=-

"You're looking tired," said Sisko, later that day, as he walked into Julian's alcove.

Julian put down the PADD he'd been reading, looked up, and said, "I am. A little. But I feel good. I've had lots of visitors. And I had a message from Miles and the others." Then, somewhat bashfully, Julian said, "I didn't realise so many people cared."

Sisko nodded and smiled, but didn't comment. Instead, he said, "Still reading about Carruthers-Smythe?"

"No. I finished that last night."

"How did it end?" asked Sisko, as he sat down.

Julian grinned, and there was a wicked glint in his eye that Sisko didn't quite trust. "Wouldn't you rather read the rest and find out for yourself? Here, I'll lend it to you." Julian leaned over to pick another PADD up from a bedside shelf.

Sisko raised his hands in a defensive gesture. "No, no. That's fine. Although I am mildly—only very mildly, mind you—curious to know how the story ended."

"Well," said Julian, "Carruthers-Smythe thwarted the Luftwaffe, single-handedly brought down the Nazis and rescued the princess. She had an abrupt change of heart, ditched her sultan and professed her undying love for him. They went back to England, where she renounced any claim she had to the throne and got an annulment. Carruthers-Smythe was ennobled, and the novel ended with them running away to Gretna Green."

"Gretna Green?"

"To get married."

"Oh. All totally predictable, then."

"Utterly." Julian grinned again. Then, dropping all pretence, he said, "I'm sorry you had to be subjected to it, but I did appreciate you reading it to me. That improved it."

"It did?" asked Sisko. "Then the story must have been even worse than I thought!"

Julian chuckled and nodded.

Sisko smiled. Then his smile slipped as something crossed his mind. "Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"

"Of course not, Captain," said Julian.

"Don't answer if you don't want to, but...did your parents ever read to you, when you were little?"

"Captain..." Julian looked at him, and Sisko was startled to see that Julian's eyes were suddenly haunted and bleak. Julian tangled his fingers together nervously, and Sisko realised that his question had upset or unnerved him, or both.

"Julian?" Sisko coaxed gently.

Julian muttered, "I doubt it."

Sisko frowned. "You don't know?"

Julian looked even more uncomfortable as he struggled to answer. "My childhood... I wasn't like other children."

"I know that."

"No. I don't think you do. Not really. I don't know whether my parents read to me or not because my memories from before I was...enhanced...aren't all that coherent." Sisko was shaken to hear how difficult, even now, Julian found it to say the "E" word.

"Oh."

Julian shrugged slightly, and said, "I don't remember my grandmother singing to me, either, but she says she did. I don't think my parents read to me, but I can't say for sure that they didn't."

So, Julian didn't remember being read to before he'd been taken to Adigeon Prime, and he obviously hadn't been afterwards. Sisko thought for a couple of seconds. Then he asked, "What about other childhood things? Games, for instance."

"What about them?"

"What did you play? Apart from Nips, Tweaks and Iqs, that is. You already told me that you hated that."

"I played a lot of tennis."

"I meant games, for fun. Not formal sports."

"I don't...didn't... My father couldn't hold down a job for more than a few months at a time, so we moved around a lot."

That didn't quite tie in with what Amsha had told him about their reasons for moving so often, and Sisko wondered which story was the true one. Maybe reality was a blend of both.

"I didn't make friends easily," said Julian. "Then, after a while, it became safer not to try, especially after...I found out."

"But on the station, you have a reputation for enjoying games," said Sisko.

"I do enjoy them, but..."

"But?"

"Everyone assumes I'm the instigator, that I drag Miles into the holosuite."

"Don't you?" asked Sisko, surprised and curious.

"Not usually, no. I just...go along for the ride. Don't get me wrong: I enjoy myself. I like doing things with Miles. But Miles built the racquetball court. Miles suggested we try playing darts. Miles suggested eleventh century Ireland and the Battle of Britain. Before I started going to the holosuite with Miles, I'd never willingly shared holosuite time with anyone."

"Why not?"

"Because..." Sisko waited patiently, giving Julian the time and space he needed to continue. "Two reasons, actually. When I was on my own, I didn't have to hold back. I could be...me. And the other reason was that I wasn't sure that I was having fun right, that I'd appear...normal. And I couldn't ask anyone to check."

Sisko didn't say anything. Instead, he waited, playing a game of conversational chicken.

Julian gave way first. "I...I didn't acquire social skills. Not like most children do. I couldn't socialise properly before I was enhanced, and afterwards it was too late for me to acquire the skills naturally. Even if the other children didn't know the reason for it, they could sense...weakness...and they exploited it. And I was...different. At first I was too slow. Later I was too smart. I was always the new kid, and I never managed to fit in, and being on the station was a continuation of that, at least to begin with."

Sisko sighed softly and wished, yet again, that he'd paid more attention. "So, when you—what was it you said—go along for the ride with O'Brien, you just, what, muddle through? You follow his example?"

"Yes. I can learn anything that's in a textbook, but there are some things that you just can't learn that way. And playing games is one of them."

-=o=-

Eleven days after he was shot, Julian was allowed to leave the hospital. Flanked by Joseph and Benjamin Sisko, he transported to New Orleans, where Nathan, Grant, Jonas and Felicia all greeted him warmly, and checked that he was recovered enough to be home. Julian appreciated their concern, and said so. He also thanked them all for the time they'd given up to visit him.

Joseph wouldn't hear of Julian waiting on tables on his first evening back at the restaurant. Instead, he sat Julian and Sisko down together, and promised to treat them like kings.

Julian and Sisko were just finishing their main courses when Elizabeth Lilienfeld came through the front door. She looked around, spotted them, and strode over.

Lilienfeld grabbed a chair from a neighbouring table, spun it around, and sat down. "You won't believe what I've found out," she said, her face alight with malicious glee.

Sisko lowered his final forkful of food and said, "Go on then. Spill. I can tell you're dying to."

Julian sipped some water while he watched their exchange. Then he put down his glass and asked, "What's going on?"

Lilienfeld said, "We didn't want to say anything before, in case we got your hopes up for nothing."

"Get my hopes up...? What are you talking about?"

"You tell him," said Lilienfeld, "while I order." She waved Grant over.

Julian turned to Sisko and demanded, "Tell me what?"

"While you were still in your coma, Dr Loews came to see me..." Sisko went on to outline the gist of their conversation, and how he and Loews had decided to recruit Lilienfeld to help with their investigation.

At the same time that Sisko finished his explanation, Lilienfeld concluded her conversation with Grant, who disappeared off to get her food. She looked at Julian. "You all up to speed? Good. Now..."

Lilienfeld leaned in over the table and said, "As you know, I like nothing better than to uncover dirty dealings and hypocrisy, and this is some of the dirtiest. Not as good as a bloody murder, of course, but it comes close."

Julian winced, and Lilienfeld looked almost contrite. "Sorry," she said. "That was insensitive of me, seeing as how my latest murderer—"

"Was my uncle."

"And you were nearly his latest victim."

"Yes. Quite. Can we move on? _Please?_"

"Have either of you heard of a man called Philippe Girardot?"

Sisko slowly shook his head. Julian narrowed his eyes as he thought. The name sounded familiar, and he conjured up a face to go with it. It had been five...? Yes, just over five years ago...at the Delon's apartment in Paris...

A dinner party... Philippe Girardot and his wife were there, along with their daughter, Augustine.

Philippe Girardot...

Julian looked at Lilienfeld.

"Ah, hah! The name means something to you!"

"Philippe Girardot is—or, at least, he was—visiting Professor of Anthropology at the Vulcan Academy of Sciences," said Julian.

"Correct."

"His wife is called Sandrine, and they have a daughter called Augustine."

"I'm impressed!" said Lilienfeld. "Do you know this much about everything? Just how extensive is that memory of yours?"

Julian shook his head, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "I met the family once. That's all."

"Might I ask, where?"

"At the Delons' home."

Julian could have said more. He could have told them that Sandrine was already drunk by the time they had arrived, Philippe had been a bore, and Augustine had looked as though she wanted to be anywhere else but there. Eventually, Palis had dragged Augustine away on some pretext or other, in a vain attempt to cheer her up. The family had struck Julian as being even more dysfunctional than his own.

"Before Augustine, the Giradots had another child," said Lilienfeld. "A boy."

Grant came back, and the conversation stalled while he juggled place settings, cleared Julian and Sisko's dirty dishes, and then carried over a steaming plate of gumbo for Lilienfeld. She dug in enthusiastically. "Sorry," she said around a mouthful of okra and shrimp, "but I haven't eaten since breakfast, and I'm famished."

After several hasty mouthfuls, Lilienfeld took a break from her food and ferreted around inside her bag. She pulled out a battered PADD, tapped in a few commands, and then held it out. "Take a look at this."

Julian and Sisko reached for it at the same time, then each tried to defer to the other. Finally, rank won out, and Sisko took the PADD.

"A book review?" he asked.

"A review of a semi-autobiographical tale of an adopted woman and her family."

"Wait a minute... _Penumbra_. Jake was reading this. He said it was depressing."

"Sounds about right," said Lilienfeld. "And the real story is even worse. Sandrine and Philippe Girardot struggled to have children of their own. Sandrine had two miscarriages before she finally managed to carry a son to term. They called him Jacques Philippe. After that, Philippe and Sandrine gave up trying for another child themselves and, a couple of years later, they adopted Augustine." Lilienfeld shovelled another forkful of gumbo into her mouth and hastily chewed. She swallowed noisily and, without giving the food time to reach her stomach, she continued. "By the time Jacques was four years old, it was obvious that he'd got some kind of learning disability. And soon after that, he died. Sandrine never got over it. She started drinking, and she's suffered from bouts of depression ever since."

Lilienfeld lifted more gumbo into her mouth, and this time she chewed more slowly as she waited expectantly. Obligingly, Julian asked, "But... What's this got to do with Dr Loews and with Jack?"

Lilienfeld smiled. "I checked the records. Found the death certificate. Apparently, Jacques drowned. And I went to Caudebec-en-Caux, and visited his grave."

"I still don't see—"

Around another mouthful of food, she chortled and said, "I'm just toying with you." Then, after she'd swallowed, she said, "He didn't die."

Julian's mouth fell open. "He didn't..." Then he put two and two together, and said, "Jack?" But he didn't need to ask; he'd already worked out the answer.

Lilienfeld grinned. "Jack!" she said, emphasising the name by slamming her palm down on the table. The cutlery jumped. "Your mutant friend, Jack, is the son of one of our generation's most venerated academics!"

"But, but... How?" demanded Julian.

"How did I find out? Or how did he come to be in the Institute?"

"Both, I suppose."

She took another mouthful, which she barely chewed before she swallowed. The doctor in Julian wondered how often and how badly she suffered from indigestion. "Guess who signed the death certificate?"

Sisko and Julian waited impatiently.

"Pierre Delon! That's who!"

Julian's mouth dropped open. Pierre Delon had faked a death certificate and had abandoned a child at the Institute? Finally, he managed to close his mouth again. "Are you sure?"

"Oh, quite sure." Her smile was positively wolfish.

"H-how did you find all this out?"

"It was surprisingly easy, actually. I looked into Delon's connections: family; people he went to school with; fellow medical students... Then I looked for missing kids. There weren't any I couldn't account for. I have to admit, I was getting pretty desperate at that point. But, then I thought, what about ones who'd died? And, finally, I struck latinum! I found that the Girardots had lost a little boy of the right age. I tracked Augustine Giradot down, and I talked to her."

"How did she react?" asked Julian, thinking about how he felt each time a new family secret surfaced.

"Disbelief. Shock. Anger. Pretty much in that order. But, by the time we were done, I think she'd accepted my story. Leastways, she said it made a lot of things about her family make sense."

"What kind of things?" asked Sisko.

"Why her mother was always so unhappy. Why she drank too much, especially around birthdays and anniversaries. Why she's been in and out of rehabilitation clinics for as long as Augustine can remember. Why nobody ever talked about him. Maybe even why her parents avoid each other. Augustine told me that they lead completely separate lives now, even though they've never formally divorced."

"Did her parents know that Jack was still alive?" asked Julian. Then, more to himself than anyone else, he added, "They must have known."

"No idea," said Lilienfeld. "Augustine doesn't know, either. Augustine thought that he was dead, so either the parents don't know, or they lied to her. Maybe they lied to each other." She shrugged.

"What's Augustine going to do now?" asked Julian. "Will she get in touch with Jack, do you think?"

Lilienfeld sighed. "Maybe. Maybe not. I doubt that Augustine has decided one way or the other. She said that it was a lot to take in, and she mentioned wanting to talk to her parents before she did anything else. Beyond that, who knows?"

Julian made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, then he lapsed into silent thought.

Why hadn't Delon gone through proper procedures to get Jack admitted to the Institute? What had prompted Delon to fake the death certificate?

And how much—if anything—did Fischer know?

Julian had long suspected that the MSB's tribunal had been rigged and that he had never stood a chance of winning because Delon and Fischer had conspired together. Delon had wanted him out of medicine and Fischer had wanted him in Intelligence. It had made sense. Julian had assumed that Delon had cooperated with Fischer of his own free will.

But, thanks to the conversation he'd overheard at the courthouse, Julian knew that Fischer was capable of making threats and, quite probably, of blackmail. So, if what Lilienfeld was telling Julian was true...

Fischer manipulated and threatened and twisted... He'd gone out of his way to try to force Julian into working for him. He'd threatened Yilmaz.

Was it beyond the realm of possibility that Fischer had a hold over Delon, too? Blood might be thicker than water, but coercion and blackmail might be more powerful than either.

As Julian thought, his eyes narrowed and his mouth set in a grim, angry line.

"Julian?" said Sisko.

Julian snapped out of his reverie.

"What is it?" asked Sisko.

Julian said, "I was wondering just how likely it is that Fischer has been blackmailing Delon."

Sisko raised his eyebrows. Lilienfeld scarcely paused to glance at Julian before she dug back into her gumbo.

Lilienfeld reached the bottom of her bowl and began scraping around enthusiastically to capture every last drop. When she was done, she dropped the fork and sighed contentedly. "I needed that!" Quite unselfconsciously, she gave a stupendous belch. Then she leaned over the empty bowl and said, "There's something else I need to tell you."

Both Sisko and Julian leaned forwards expectantly.

"I got Dr Loews to come to Caudebec with me, and she confirmed that, whatever is in Jacques Giradot's grave, it isn't Jacques Giradot."

"What?" said Julian blankly, the jump backwards to the earlier topic taking him by surprise. "Are you saying the grave's _not_ empty? That there's something's in there?"

"Karen scanned the grave and said that it definitely contained organic material. She managed to reconstruct its DNA patterns and said something about—" Lilienfeld looked up towards the ceiling as she recalled the exact words Loews had used "—gene sequence degradation."

"A clone!" exclaimed Julian, horrified.

"What?" said Sisko.

Julian shifted slightly so that he was facing Sisko as he said, "Do you remember Ibudan?"

Sisko frowned for a moment, then his brow cleared and he snapped his fingers as he placed the name. "The Bajoran who grew and killed his own clone in an attempt to frame Odo."

Julian nodded. He turned back to Lilienfeld and said, "Dumping a child on the Institute's doorstep... That wouldn't be hard to do. But to fake a child's death and to murder a clone..."

"To be fair," said Lilienfeld, "we don't know for sure that anyone was murdered."

"Oh, so the clone simply chose to die?" said Sisko sarcastically.

"It could have been programmed to," said Julian, "although, arguably, that's still murder of a sort."

"Or," said Lilienfeld, "the material in the grave could have been grown without being alive in the first place, like growing lots of new organs and bones all at once. Karen said that, without an exhumation, there was no way she could know for sure."

They sat still for a while, letting the enormity of Lilienfeld's revelations sink in. Then Julian said, "Even so, that's an awful lot of trouble to go to. And it's—"

"The stuff bad thrillers are made of?" suggested Lilienfeld. Her wry attempt at humour fell on stony ground.

"Or bad espionage novels," mused Sisko. "I think we definitely need to find out more about the relationship between Delon and Fischer. Beyond their being cousins, I mean."

"Incidentally," Lilienfeld said, changing the subject completely, "I found something else out, while I was digging around. It seems that Julian didn't lose the tribunal by as big a margin as we supposed."

"No?" asked Sisko.

"Despite Delon, the panel voted seven to five in favour of striking Julian off the register, so it was a pretty close thing. The others agreed that some kind of punishment was warranted, but they'd have been happy just to censure him."

-=o=-

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: **All my usual thanks... I love that people actually want to read this, and I've grown to adore the little ping that tells me I've got new email. Each new notification that someone has decided to leave a review, or to follow, or to favourite makes me smile.

**Next time:** more answers, more questions, and more about Jack. Among other things.


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter Twenty-nine**

Julian tossed and turned, his sleep coming in fitful snatches while his conscious and unconscious minds cycled through probabilities, possibilities, questions, and nightmares.

His conversation with Sisko and Lilienfeld had dangled a tantalising thread of hope in front of him. If the disciplinary panel had voted only seven to five in favour of taking his licence, did that mean that a victory at his appeal wasn't out of reach?

Also, now he knew Delon wasn't the paragon of the medical community that Julian had supposed... What did that mean for the appeal? Surely he and Dinmont could use that to their advantage somehow, but how?

As a distant clock chimed three, Julian found himself lying awake, staring at the ceiling and making deals with the universe.

He wanted to be a doctor. He silently promised the cosmos that he would accept censure, if only he could be allowed to practice medicine again. He found himself trying to bargain about the level of censure he would tolerate, although, deep down, he knew that he was desperate enough to accept almost anything that the MSB could throw at him. He would even bear an extended period of suspension, just so long as it meant that he would be allowed to practice in the end.

Julian closed his eyes and, as he began to float somewhere closer to sleep, his mind began to dwell on Delon and what he had done. Unprofessional...criminal...

What _exactly_ had Delon done? What were the specifics of the crimes he'd committed? What did it mean, in the grand scheme of things? And, what role, if any, had Fischer played?

And Jack... Back when they had first met, Jack had told Julian that how he had ended up at the Institute was a secret. Why? How much did Jack know about what had happened to him? Could Jack tell Julian anything useful? Even if Jack could, would he?

Julian's wonderings turned into the wild imaginings that came with dreams. His dreams turned to nightmares, and then he woke up again.

Across the room, Sisko's slow breathing, punctuated by the occasional purring snore, told Julian that the captain was asleep. The far-off clock sounded the three-quarter hour and the cycle started over again.

Finally, night eased into day and, feeling exhausted, Julian got up. Then, as soon as it was socially acceptable to, Julian called Loews and asked if he could visit the Institute.

-=o=-

"Julian! It's good to see you up and about again!"

Julian smiled at Loews as he hitched the bag he'd brought with him more securely over his shoulder and stepped down from the transporter pad. "It's good to be up and about! I know I have you to thank for that. If not for you and Dr Matteus—"

Loews smiled back at him and tried to wave his gratitude away. "You thanked me already, back in the hospital."

"I know, but—"

"But nothing," said Loews, shaking her head. She gestured down at herself and said, "I'd give you a hug, but as you can see..." The long overcoat and wide-brimmed hat that Loews was wearing were dripping water all over the floor.

At that moment, and as if to emphasize her words, the wind screamed loudly around the transporter shed, and the rain hammered against the windows, making a noise that sounded as though grit was being blasted against the glass. Julian needed no prompting to put on the waterproofs that Loews offered him.

As Loews and Julian walked up towards the Institute, shoulders hunched and heads bowed against the weather, they swapped information.

"The MSB has been in touch," Julian said, raising his voice to be heard over the storm. "I've got a date for my appeal." Water dripped from the hood of his coat and down his face. Futilely, he tried to wipe the moisture away with his wet hands.

"Oh?" said Loews.

"Next week."

"That doesn't give you much time to prepare, does it?"

"Not really, no," said Julian. "I was sent the formal notification while I was in the coma. I think whoever sent it hoped that I wouldn't notice it, or that I'd miss the date, or something."

"Aren't you being a bit cynical?" asked Loews.

Julian shook his head. "I think I'm being realistic." A remote corner of Julian's mind marvelled that he didn't hesitate as they negotiated the forcefield. He found that familiarity had almost entirely worn away his previous fears about coming to the Institute. "The MSB didn't play fair last time, so I doubt it will this. Fortunately for me, both Dinmont and Professor Hessayon had already started thinking about ideas for the appeal, and I'm hoping that—"

"—Jack's story might be the key to discrediting Delon?"

"Yes. At the very least, I'm hoping it may help. Do you think that's possible?"

Loews didn't answer directly and, owing to all her layers of clothing, Julian couldn't tell whether or not she shrugged or shook her head. However, when she spoke, her words were less than encouraging. "I had another look at Jack's records after you called. They're just as I remembered. There's nothing in them about how he came to be here."

"Pity," said Julian, disappointed.

"Unless Jack tells you something, himself, I'm not sure that you're going to find anything out."

"Then," said Julian, "the next question is, _can_ Jack tell us anything, himself?"

"Yes."

Julian reluctantly voiced a concern. "I'm not sure that he will tell us anything, even if he can. He's been quite clear that he considers how he came here to be a secret."

"When did he tell you that?" asked Loews.

"The first time I visited."

"Oh." Loews took a breath and said, "I have to warn you, I tried to talk to them earlier, when I told them that you were coming. I didn't get very far. Like I said once before, they talk to you more than they do to me. They...don't let me in."

"I've noticed," Julian admitted.

"I hope that you'll have more luck than me."

Julian hoped so, too.

-=o=-

"You're all better!" Patrick's face moulded itself into a wide, happy grin, and he launched himself at Julian.

The force of the impact made Julian stagger, and it took a few stumbling steps for him to regain his balance, by which time Patrick had his arms clamped tightly around him in a clingy, ecstatic embrace.

"Did you bring us presents?" asked Patrick. "You said that, next time you came, you'd bring us presents, and that you'd wrap them up."

Julian chuckled as he carefully disentangled himself. "Yes, I brought presents."

"Lovely," cooed Lauren. She sauntered over to plant a full-lipped kiss on his cheek. She stroked his arm, lingering for a fraction too long for the gesture to have been entirely innocent.

Jack bounced on the balls of his feet, his right elbow cradled in his left hand, and the knuckles of his right hand tapping restlessly against his chin. "Where are they, then? Where are the presents?" he said.

Julian pulled a stack of packages out of his bag, the wrappings doing little to disguise the shapes of PADDs and data chips.

Patrick leapt on the pile in a gleeful frenzy. Lauren and Jack were barely more restrained, and even Sarina picked something up. Slowly, she turned it over in her hands, and then she put it down again and wondered off.

In a matter of minutes, the wrappings had been reduced to a pile of shredded paper. Jack hogged and sorted through the PADDs on which Julian had saved a wide range of books. "Read it...read it...read it," chanted Jack as he worked his way through the pile, carelessly throwing the PADDs aside as he went. Then he exclaimed, "Oh! This is new! I don't know this one. This is good. Yes, yes, this is good!"

Julian peered across to see what had secured Jack's approval and saw that it was a copy of the Cardassian classic, _The Never-ending Sacrifice_. He hoped that Jack enjoyed it more than he had.

Meanwhile, Patrick and Lauren sorted through the data chips while Julian explained what they contained. "I thought you might like to visit some of the best museums that the Federation has to offer. I know that a holoprogramme isn't the same as actually being there, but—"

Lauren put a long-nailed forefinger on his lips to shut him up. "Shush, you sweet man. These are wonderful. Thank you."

Patrick nodded his fervent gratitude and beamed happily.

Finally, Patrick, Jack and Lauren finished sorting through their bounty, and they set the gifts aside.

Patrick said, "We watched the trial. It was very exciting. Although the part where you were shot wasn't very nice."

Julian grimaced. "I can't say that I particularly enjoyed that part, myself."

"Did it hurt _very_ much?"

"Yes," said Julian curtly. "At least, until I passed out. Dr Loews, here, saved my life."

"Did you?" said Patrick, his eyes wide saucers of wonder as he turned to look at Loews. "Did you really save his life?"

"Uh..." Loews was tongue-tied and Julian could tell that she'd been taken by surprise at suddenly being included in the conversation. "Well—"

"Yes," said Julian, cutting through whatever self-deprecating qualification Loews had been about to make.

Simply and sincerely, Patrick said, "Thank you for saving our friend."

"Yes, yes, that was good of you," said Jack, although he sounded more dismissive than appreciative.

Lauren turned her sultry eyes onto Loews and looked at her appraisingly, as though Lauren was reassessing the doctor, or maybe seeing her properly for the first time.

Something made Julian look at Patrick, and he could see in Patrick's expression a similar shift in his regard for Loews.

Julian felt a change in the room's atmosphere, and he realised that, by saving his life, Loews had earned the tolerance of the mutants. They mightn't yet want to welcome her into their little group, but they would no longer actively shut her out.

Somehow, understanding that made it much easier for him to bring up the real reason for his visit.

"I came here today because I need to talk to you, Jack," said Julian.

Jack crossed his arms across his chest and said, "Dr Loews mentioned something about you wanting me to help you."

"Jack will help you, if he can," said Patrick, nodding emphatically.

Julian didn't share Patrick's confidence, but he was distracted from saying so by Lauren, who asked, "How can he help you? He's stuck in here, like the rest of us. So, what can he do?"

"You all helped me before," Julian pointed out. "When you suggested a new way for me to think about things, and when you told me to think positively."

Lauren smiled at him, and Patrick clapped his hands, happy to have been of service.

"It's _me_ he wants to help him, now," said Jack aggressively. "Not _us_. It's not the same, no, no. Not the same at all." He spun around, leaned forward and stared unblinkingly into Julian's eyes. "What do you want me to do?"

"Didn't Dr Loews tell you?" asked Julian.

Jack tilted his chin upwards and he said, "She tried to, but we didn't want to talk to her, so we wouldn't listen. We waited for you to come. Yes, yes. We waited. Much more efficient that way. We didn't want to deal with a go-between."

"Should we have listened to her?" asked Patrick, his brow creased into a deep frown. "Would it have helped?"

Probably it wouldn't have made any real difference, Julian thought, although it would at least have been polite.

Before Julian had a chance to cobble together an answer, Jack, Patrick and Lauren turned expectantly towards Loews, and they finally allowed her to give them the explanation they'd refused to listen to previously.

When Loews was done, Jack chewed nervously on the first joint of his right index finger and stared into the middle distance, his eyes flashing with an emotion that Julian couldn't quite read. Then he said, "Going to France... That was nosey." He spun around and thrust his face close to Patrick's. "You shouldn't have said anything!"

Patrick cowered back as he protested weakly, "I'm sorry, Jack. I'm sorry." He wrung his hands, and tears pooled in the corners of his eyes before dribbling down his pudgy cheeks. "I was just trying to help. I didn't mean any harm!"

"How can you say that?" demanded Jack, his voice rising to something that was almost a shout.

Jack seemed even edgier than normal, and his anger was bubbling dangerously close to the surface. Julian could hear it in the volume and tightness of Jack's voice, and he could see it in Jack's narrowed eyes, his sharp, jerky movements, and in the way Patrick carefully kept his distance.

"You pried, Patrick! Yes, yes, you pried. I told you, I've told you all, my past is a secret, yes, yes. _My_ secret, and Patrick took a bit of it and _told_."

Jack pirouetted and pointed furiously at Loews, "And then you tried to _find out_ my secret!"

Jack planted both feet firmly on the ground and jutted his chest out. He crossed his arms and thrust his chin forwards pugnaciously. The arrogant resistance of Jack's stance was emphasised by the fact that, for once, he was trying to hold himself perfectly still. His whole body vibrated with the effort.

"I'm sorry, Jack," said Loews placatingly. "I didn't mean any harm. Neither of us did. I wanted to help Julian. Actually, I want to help both of you but, unless you talk to us, I won't know whether I can."

"You can't help me," wailed Jack. "No, no, you can't. Nobody can help me."

Gently, Loews said, "What makes you say that?"

"Because nobody helped before. Because you can't change anything."

"What can't I change?"

Jack looked at Lauren, Patrick and Sarina, and there was a raw, bleak, pleading uncertainty in his expression.

Some kind of silent communication must have passed between the four of them because, when Lauren spoke, she clearly spoke for them all. "We'd like a few minutes alone. You can wait outside, and we'll call you back when we've decided whether or not Jack will talk to you."

Loews stood up to leave but Julian remained seated. Lauren said, "You, too, Julian."

Julian realised that, while he might have things in common with the mutants and they even considered him a friend, he still wasn't one of them. He had to admit, at least to himself, that his exclusion from the conversation stung.

Julian and Loews loitered in the corridor, Julian moving far enough away that he wouldn't be tempted to try to eavesdrop through the closed door. After a couple of paltry attempts at small talk, they settled for leaning against the wall in silence.

After barely six minutes, which felt much longer, Patrick poked his head around the door and said, "You can come in again now."

Julian squirmed to ease the tension out of his neck, shoulders and back as he and Loews followed Patrick. Something about the way the door closed behind them had an ominous finality about it.

The mutants glanced at each other and, again, Lauren spoke for them all. "We've decided. Jack will talk to you." She looked at Loews. "He'll talk to you as well as to Julian because you want to help our friend."

Jack straddled a chair, sitting on it the wrong way round, and he resumed the nervous chewing of his knuckle. Lauren sat on her divan, knees to chest, her arms wrapped loosely around her long legs. Patrick remained on his feet, hovering nervously, and Sarina, who might or might not have been paying attention, stood off to one side.

Loews and Julian found themselves chairs and sat down.

They began to talk and, for perhaps the first time ever, the mutants let Loews into their conversation with neither resentment nor irritation. Julian could sense the invisible barriers between the mutants and Loews thinning.

Julian looked at Jack and said, "You've told us that how you came to be here was a secret. What I don't understand is, why? What did Delon and your parents do to deserve that kind of loyalty from you?"

Jack lifted his chin in angry defiance. "I didn't do it for them! I did it for me! They dumped me here. They didn't want me! So I decided not to want them either. I stopped telling the truth. I grew sick of saying the same thing over and over _and over_ because nothing I said was ever going to make any difference, and then I realised that none of it _mattered anyway!_"

"Of course it mattered," said Loews gently. "They were your family."

"_Family_ doesn't matter," snapped Jack.

"None of us has family," explained Patrick. He waved his arm in an extravagant gesture to take in Jack, Lauren and Sarina. "None of us needs family. Not when we have each other."

Lauren nodded. "We're better and closer than family."

Loews shook her head, disagreeing. "Family does matter. And, in your case, Jack, it matters because they hurt you. Something should have been done back then to show that what they had done was wrong and that _you_ mattered. You were—are—important, and we need to do something now to try to put things right."

Julian said, "Until recently, I believed that I didn't need any family in my life. But I don't believe that any longer."

"Your parents didn't turn their backs on you," said Lauren. "Your parents were able to keep you. It's not the same for you as for us."

"No, it's not," admitted Julian. "But learning about my family, all the relatives I never knew about, even the ones that don't want anything to do with me... That's helped me to feel more...human."

"Why would you _want_ to feel human? You're a mutant!" argued Jack.

"Why can't I be both?" asked Julian.

"Because you can't!" said Jack, his voice almost a scream. "You have to choose. We have supported your wish to live among them, even though that's hard for us to understand. Yes, yes, it's very hard to understand. But for you to want to be one of them, too—!" Jack crossed his arms and turned his back on Julian.

"Jack's right," said Patrick. "Are you one of them or one of us?"

Jack said, his back still towards Julian, "They made us different. They created us, and then they rejected us. Why would you want to be one of them?"

"Because—" Put like that, why did Julian want to be human?

For almost as long as he could remember, Julian had wanted to fit in, to find a niche for himself. But recently, the nature of the niche he'd been searching for had changed. No longer was Julian looking for somewhere to hide. Now he wanted a place where he could be accepted, even though the truth about his genetic status had become public knowledge. Maybe no such place existed, but he wasn't ready to give up searching so early in his quest.

"Because," Julian said, trying again, "I was born human and, even now, I'm more human than anything else, and so are all of you. I want to claim my birthright. I want to rewrite the species definition and claim back what is rightfully mine." Julian surprised himself, possibly even more than he surprised the others, with the vehemence of his words.

Sarina stared, Lauren sneered, Patrick scowled and Jack made a noise that, while it wasn't an actual word, nonetheless eloquently conveyed his derision. Then Jack turned to face him again and said disbelievingly, "Do you really think that humans—_normal_ humans—will let you?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. But that doesn't stop me wanting it."

Softly, quietly, Lauren confessed, "It stops us."

Julian thought about what the mutants were saying and he compared it to the way they had previously encouraged him to fight. Which was the truest reflection of their beliefs? What did they really want for him, and for themselves?

Then Julian thought about how far and how easily he had withdrawn from society before Sisko, Joseph and the rest had pulled him back. The mutants only had each other. They had never had anybody to pull them out of their isolation...until, maybe, now.

Julian had wanted to fight for them as much as for himself. He'd assumed they'd want the same things that he did, but he'd never asked them, had he? And if they didn't want what he wanted, what right did he have to fight in their names? He found himself asking, "Do you really not want to be part of the human race? Or is it simply easier to say you don't, because it protects you against rejection, and saves you from getting hurt?"

The mutants stared at him. Then Jack said, "You know, you're not quite as stupid as I thought." The snide comment felt almost like a compliment.

Julian returned to the purpose of his visit. "Will you at least _try_ to help me, Jack?"

"Oh, all right!" agreed Jack, although he seemed sulky and reluctant.

"I want to help, too," said Patrick, his face alight with enthusiasm. "I can tell you everything I know about Jack's arrival."

"I can tell you everything I know about it, too," said Jack, "which won't take long, because I know absolutely nothing. One day, I was there, with them. The next I was here." He clamped his mouth shut and scowled.

"You don't remember anything else?" said Julian, trying not to let his disappointment show.

"No. I was drugged."

"Do you know that for a fact, or are you guessing?" asked Julian.

"I'm not _guessing_," snapped Jack. "I'm proposing the most likely hypothesis, based on the empirical evidence."

Julian nodded, conceding the point. Then he said, "You said earlier that you _stopped_ telling people the truth. You had told the truth before."

"Yes, yes, I told them. Yes, I did. I told them all."

"Then you stopped telling them. Why?"

"They didn't believe me. They told _me _that _I_ was a _liar_!" Jack's long-held indignation and rage echoed across the decades.

"Who, Jack?" asked Loews. "Who told you that you were a liar?"

Jack didn't answer. Instead he continued ranting, spewing out a torrent of words along with a spray of spittle. "I told them that my name was Giradot. Jacques Giradot. They didn't believe me. Oh, no! They didn't believe me, and they said that I was wrong, that I was lying. Yes, yes, they did. The doctors did, and the nurses. They told me I was a liar, over and over again. I was five years old, but I was enhanced, I was already cleverer than any of them, but they insisted that I didn't even know my own name!" Now arrogance mingled with Jack's anger.

"It's peculiar," said Loews, her calm interruption jarring with Jack's emotions. "Jack's claim that he was Jacques Giradot isn't in his records. At the very least, it should have been mentioned."

"Maybe it's a conspiracy, like in a book!" Patrick's eyes lit up with excitement and he gleefully rubbed his hands together. "Maybe the records have been changed!"

"Maybe we could tell, if we saw the files," said Lauren.

Loews looked dubious. "I don't know..." She muttered something about data protection and privacy.

"But they're _my_ files!" shouted Jack. "I have the right to see them."

Loews shook her head. "Legally, I'm not sure that you do. You're..."

She trailed off, but Julian guessed the rest. Jack was legally incompetent, and the law prevented him from requesting access to his records. Julian swallowed as much of his indignation and frustration as he could, and said tightly, "Who is his Advocate?"

"Well..."

"Is it the Institute's director? Or do you have any say? You looked at Jack's records earlier..."

"I... The director, technically, but..."

"Do you have any discretion in these matters?" asked Julian.

"I... Well, probably not. But—"

"I want to see my records. Yes, yes, I do," demanded Jack. "I want _everyone in this room_ to see my records. Yes, yes. I do."

From a professional standpoint, giving Jack and the others access to protected files was almost certainly wrong. Julian knew that. But, from a moral standpoint, he was convinced that it was the right thing to do. He watched as Loews fought with herself and reached the same conclusion.

"Dammit," she muttered. "You're terrible influences..."

"We won't tell," said Patrick, a beatific smile on his face. "If anyone asks, we'll just say we hacked into the system."

"We could, you know," said Lauren.

"Hacking into records would be child's play," agreed Jack. "Yes, yes. Child's play. A piece of cake."

Julian wanted to laugh at the expression on Loews's face. He wondered why, if they could get into their files, the mutants hadn't done it before. Then again, maybe they had. He remembered something Lauren had said on his first visit: "They couldn't keep us in here. Not if we really wanted to leave." If they could escape, what else could they do? And, how much of what they could do had they actually done?

Loews called up the files and the mutants gathered around the screen, scrutinising Jack's medical records. They seemed to be far less interested in what the records said than in the way the files held the data together, and that reinforced Julian's suspicions that this possibly wasn't the first time the mutants had accessed them.

Lauren looked up and said, "If anything was deleted, it was done very carefully. There are no obvious gaps or discontinuities."

Julian sucked on his lower lip. Loews was right: if Jack had said something, there should have been a record, and he couldn't help but be suspicious that there wasn't.

Loews must have been thinking along the same lines because, out of the blue, she said, "We could try checking the duty logs."

"Duty logs?" asked Lauren.

Loews explained. "At the end of each shift, the duty officer leaves a note about any key events that have happened. The notes tend to be brief, only a few sentences long, and informal. They're designed to help whoever takes over." Loews called the logs up. "Maybe it's a long shot, but there might be something in the logs. If someone tampered with Jack's records, they might have overlooked these, especially if that person wasn't familiar with the Institute's operating procedures."

Patrick said approvingly, "That's very imaginative."

Loews said, "Elizabeth Lilienfeld's investigative techniques may have rubbed off on me a little."

"Look!" cried Jack excitedly. "I've found something!'

Words flashed across the screen.

_...child admitted as Jack Doe...complications resulting from genetic enhancement..._

Patrick and Lauren pressed against Jack's back as they clustered around the computer terminal. Julian and Loews leaned in close behind them, craning their necks to see around the mutants' heads and shoulders.

Loews soon stepped away because Jack and the others made no allowances for her slower reading speed and she couldn't follow the scroll of the text on the monitor. Julian sympathised; even he was struggling to keep up.

_...authorised a preliminary investigation to see whether the child could be who he says he is..._

So, thought Julian, someone had checked Jack's story out.

_...Jacques Giradot died...copy of death certificate filed..._

The conclusions that the investigators had drawn had been wrong, but at least someone had listened to Jack and tried to find out the truth. Jack hadn't been ignored. Wasn't that better than there not having been any kind of check at all?

_...suspect that Jack's obsession with the Giradot child stems from...knew the child? _

_...No records relating to a child matching Jack's description... No match in missing persons files..._

The screen continued to scroll, and at each new revelation the mutants exclaimed excitedly.

_... The investigators carried out DNA tests, but they came back negative. There is no genetic link between Jack and the Giradots..._

That must have been the final nail in the coffin of Jack's story, Julian thought, even as he said, "Well, there wouldn't have been, would there?"

"What?" said Loews, who had lost the thread of the revelations.

Julian explained. "When the investigators compared Jack's DNA with that of his parents, they concluded that there was no familial relationship. My DNA was altered so much that I'm no longer legally my parents' child, and I'm guessing that the same is true for Jack. Normal paternity tests don't work on us."

"Of course the tests would have come back negative," murmured Loews. "But I don't suppose that the investigators would have known that."

"Or, if they did, they conveniently forgot to mention it," suggested Julian. "Maybe they were in on it." He shook his head and said ruefully, "I'm beginning to see conspiracies everywhere."

_...break-in...nothing taken..._

"There's something else here, too," said Julian to Loews. "The logs mention that someone broke in about three weeks after Jack arrived. Nothing was taken, and the police said it was probably just someone making mischief. Kids on a dare, perhaps, but—"

"But this is a high security facility," said Loews. "Kids wouldn't—couldn't—break in on a whim."

Julian nodded. "I'm guessing the break-in was when Jack's records were altered."

"So...someone came in from outside...somebody who knew that Jack had told the truth," said Lauren, turning her attention away from the computer. She put a hand lightly on Jack's upper arm, one of very few gestures Julian had seen her make that was entirely platonic. She'd made the gesture to comfort, not to flirt. "Someone believed you, Jack. Someone, somewhere, knew that you were telling the truth."

Jack nodded and, for once, he had nothing to say.

Patrick began to cry, and Julian was suddenly struck by the wild idea that Patrick was crying Jack's tears for him. "They didn't ignore you, Jack," blubbered Patrick. "They looked into your story."

"And _then_ they didn't believe me, because someone made sure that they wouldn't," said Jack. "Oh, yes, that is so much better!" But Julian noticed that his words lacked much of their usual agitation. Jack sounded stunned rather than angry and, for a moment, Julian felt as though he was looking at a stranger.

The logs seemed to have given up all their secrets, and, one by one, Patrick, Lauren and Jack stepped away from the terminal, leaving Julian alone. He slowed the rate of the scroll to something he found more comfortable. He wasn't sure what he was looking for any more, but he couldn't bring himself to stop reading quite yet.

Jack raised a question that nobody else had thought of, or, if they had, they hadn't dared to voice. Bitter, cynical Jack, who looked for the worst in everybody, said, "They should have just killed me. Yes, yes. That would have been much easier. Yes, it would have. Why go to all this extra trouble when it would have been simpler to murder me?" Jack's normal patterns of speech were reasserting themselves along with his restless mannerisms as he got over his shock.

Julian blinked. Jack had made a bleak, but valid, point. Then his eyes opened wide as he thought of something. He communed with the computer, calling up Jack's medical file and comparing it with the duty logs.

"Oh, my God..." whispered Julian, as he found another piece of the puzzle.

"What?" demanded everyone—except Sarina—in a chorus of discordant, clamouring voices.

"Look at this..." Julian pointed a finger at the screen, where he'd placed Jack's admission records and death certificate next to each other. He glanced at Jack and said, "According to your records, you were admitted to the Institute two weeks and five days _before_ Jacques Giradot died!"

Manufacturing tissues or growing a clone... Either way, that was a lot of effort to go to. So was burying organic material. Why hadn't it been cremated? Wouldn't that have been a neater way to destroy the evidence? Unless...

Unless that was the whole point. There _was_ a _body_. Evidence existed. A standard investigation would have matched the DNA of the material in the grave to the profile contained in Jacques Giradot's medical records. No standard investigation would have looked for gene sequence degradation...

Julian put his racing thoughts into words. "In those two weeks and five days, Jack had been telling everyone that he was Jacques Giradot, and someone was curious enough to start asking questions. They _had_ to clone tissues and forge a death certificate, because that was the only way to convince anyone that Jack wasn't telling the truth!"

Jack had been so hurt by being branded a liar and by his family's rejection that he'd buried the truth deep inside himself, protecting himself against being hurt any more. He had kept the secret, not to protect his family but to protect himself...and the cover up had held for almost thirty years. Had it not been for Julian being outed and the chain of events that had followed, it would be holding still.

What if Julian had never been outed? What if there hadn't been a deal, and if Julian had run away and left the Federation? What if Julian had chosen never to visit the Institute? What if the mutants had never seen the video footage, and Patrick had never recognised Delon?

So many ifs... So many connections that might so easily have never been made...

-=o=-

Joseph glanced up as Julian walked through the back door, did a double take, and exclaimed, "You look exhausted!"

"I am, a bit," Julian admitted.

Joseph herded him into the restaurant. "Sit down, and I'll get you something to drink."

Julian nodded and smiled gratefully as he collapsed onto the banquette opposite Sisko, who was already nursing a mug of his own.

Sisko looked at Julian carefully. "Are you all right?"

Julian nodded. "I will be. I just overdid things a little. It's been a long day."

"We thought you'd be back ages ago. What kept you?" asked Sisko.

"Oh..." said Julian. "Nothing in particular. Everything took longer than I thought it would. That's all."

Joseph put a mug down in front of Julian and said, "You're only just out of hospital. You should be taking things easy."

Julian nodded, although he wasn't sure that he agreed. With his appeal looming, he couldn't help but feel that time was against him, and he thought that preparing as best he could for the hearing was more important than avoiding a small amount of physical discomfort.

When Julian began to perk up a little, Sisko and Joseph pressed him for more details about how his visit had gone.

"It was good to see everyone," said Julian, "and I found out a lot. However, I'm not sure how much it helps."

"How do you mean?" asked Sisko.

"I had a lot of questions before I went to the Institute, but what I found out didn't really answer any of them, and I've come back with a bunch of new ones. But, I learned a lot about Jack and about what happened to him."

"Like what?" asked Joseph.

Julian tried to keep his version of Jack's story as short as possible but, even so, it took some time to tell.

By the time Julian was done, Joseph was looking appalled. Joseph shook his head and said, "That poor kid."

Julian nodded. "Nobody bothered to tell Jack that they'd looked into his story. He assumed that everyone had ignored him because he was only five years old, or because he was enhanced, or both. He kept quiet because he couldn't see any point in telling a truth that nobody believed and that made him angry, particularly whenever anyone told him that he was lying. Eventually, he decided to tell everyone who asked that his background was a secret."

"Does he remember Delon at all?" asked Sisko.

"Yes, but I don't think that helps us much. Jack said that Delon used to visit the Giradot house fairly often, but we already knew that the two families knew each other. However, we can link Jack to the Giradots, which is something that the original investigation never managed to do. Standard paternity tests don't match Jack to his parents, but we can match Jack to whatever is in that grave. And, since the Giradots claimed that the grave was their son's, Jack and the Giradots also have to be connected. Of course, thirty years ago, nobody thought to match Jack with the grave's contents. They only ever checked his DNA against that of his parents."

"And you found nothing to link any of it to Fischer, I suppose?" said Sisko.

"Nothing."

"Pity." Sisko thought for a moment, then he said, "As your friends couldn't shed any light on Fischer, I guess we'll just have to find some other way of finding out what part—if any—he's played in this. And I think I have an idea."

-=o=-

The following afternoon, after a reasonable night's sleep, a lot of thought and a long conversation with the professor, Julian took Hessayon with him to meet Dandie Dinmont.

Daffers remembered Julian, and made a beeline towards him, jumping up and demanding fuss. Julian smiled fondly and obliged the dog while he introduced Hessayon to Dinmont.

"Professor Hessayon is a lawyer," Julian explained. "He represented me in court, and he has a few ideas for the appeal."

Dinmont nodded and said, "Let's hear them, then."

Hessayon eyed her replicator and the mug on her desk, and said, "Any chance of a coffee before we get down to business?"

"Oh! Of course! How do you take it?"

"Black. One sugar."

Julian could tell that Hessayon was watching and waiting to see what she'd do next, and when she didn't offer Julian anything, he said pointedly, "Aren't you going to ask your client what he wants?" Julian didn't know whether to be amused, embarrassed, or grateful for Hessayon's intervention.

"Oh! Oh...yes. Right. Of course. Sorry." She stumbled over what she should call Julian, now he wasn't a doctor, and then she mangled his name.

He politely cut into her confusion and said, "Julian is fine. Coffee, white with two sugars. Thank you."

To his surprise, Dinmont suddenly smiled at him, and Julian found himself wondering whether Dinmont's failure to ever offer him any hospitality had been an oversight rather than a deliberate slight. He—or what he was—still seemed to throw her off balance.

When they were finally settled, Hessayon looked over the rim of his coffee cup at Dinmont, took a sip, swallowed, and then said, "How far have you got with your preparations for the appeal?"

"Well," said Dinmont, "it was obvious that Delon didn't follow procedures in the original hearing, or—if they were followed—they weren't applied equitably between the complainant and the defence. So I made a list of all the examples, and I sent it to Caspar Lynch. He came back to me and said all the points I'd raised were valid and were solid grounds for appeal."

"Good," said Hessayon.

"Lynch said he would have got back to me sooner, but he's been laid up for quite a while with some kind of gastrointestinal...infection type...thing. It sounds pretty disgusting; he said it felt like he'd been poisoned, and that, for a while, he was exploding from both ends."

Julian had heard—and seen—worse in the course of his practice, but Hessayon looked revolted.

"I also mentioned the conflict of interest, now that I know Julian and Delon have a shared history."

"And?" asked Hessayon.

"Lynch said that it was only relevant in so far as it might have prompted Delon to flout procedures. However, if we had been worried about it, then we should have raised our concerns long before now, either at the tribunal or, preferably, even earlier, at the Directions Conference."

"Pity," said Hessayon, so softly that Julian almost didn't hear him. He doubted that he was supposed to have done.

"Lynch also pointed out that there were twelve people on that panel, in addition to the chair, and the numbers should have helped to balance out any bias."

"He's got a point, I suppose," said Hessayon resignedly. Then he took a deep breath and said, "Well, we've got plenty of other ammunition to work with, so let's see what we can do, rather than dwelling on what we can't."

"Ammunition?" asked Dinmont.

"What you've put together is a good start," said Hessayon encouragingly. "And with the information we've got for you, it might well be enough. More than enough, actually."

Dinmont rested her forearms on her desk and leaned forward, all eager curiosity.

"The first thing we've unearthed is evidence to support the view that genetically enhanced people are not inherently evil, or any more prone to personality problems than anyone else. And Dr Karen Loews says she'd be more than happy to provide expert testimony to that effect. All the information is on here." Hessayon held a PADD out to Dinmont, who reached across the desk to take it.

"Then," continued Hessayon, "there's the little matter of Pierre Delon, himself."

"What about him?" said Dinmont. She looked at Hessayon, then at Julian, and then back at Hessayon again.

Hessayon looked at Julian and said, "Perhaps you'd better explain."

So Julian did. He told Dinmont about the Institute and the mutants, particularly Jack and Patrick. Then he explained about Lilienfeld's investigations and what she'd found out.

The explanation took a long time because of Dinmont's disbelief and numerous requests for clarification. At the end of it, her eyes were wide and her cheeks were flushed with a blend of amazement, horror, and inappropriate amusement. "Oh," she said, rubbing her hands together, "this is good! I've just one more question."

"Only one?" asked Hessayon, good-naturedly.

"One immediate question. If crimes have been committed, shouldn't we take this to the proper authorities?"

"The police, you mean?" asked Hessayon.

"Yes."

"Perhaps we should. And we will, eventually. However, the case is already about thirty years old. It's not going to get any colder. Julian and I talked it over, and we figured—"

"It was really the professor's idea," interjected Julian.

"—that, as the other side plays dirty, maybe we should, too."

Dinmont frowned. "And how do you suggest we do that?"

"If we get Delon out of the picture before the appeal, who knows who—what—we'll get instead? We think it may be better to go with the devil we already know and try to neutralise him at the hearing. Besides, we know that the crimes have been covered up once before and we want to make enough of a stink, as loudly and as publicly as possible, to make sure that the same thing can't happen again."

"It's not just a matter of getting my licence back any longer," interjected Julian. "I want to vindicate Jack, too."

Dinmont sucked on her lower lip for a moment. "Theatrics aside, do you think it'll work?"

"It's a gamble," admitted Hessayon. "But I believe the odds are in our favour. The opposition can't prepare for what it doesn't expect, and we're pretty certain that it won't be expecting this."

Julian nodded to indicate that he agreed with Hessayon. Then he said, "We know Delon has behaved unprofessionally on at least two occasions: thirty years ago and again, more recently, towards me. What we're not sure about is why. Was he working alone back then? And was he—as we suspect—coerced by Admiral Fischer into making sure I got struck off?"

"Coerced?" asked Dinmont, sounding sceptical.

Hessayon said, "We wouldn't put it past Admiral Fischer, but we don't know for sure."

"But we're trying to find out," said Julian.

"Either way," said Hessayon, "the Giradot case calls Delon's professional credibility into question, and we can use that on top of everything else we've got."

"And you," she said, looking straight at Julian. "Are you sure you want to do things this way?"

Julian nodded.

"Then," said Dinmont, "let's do it." She sucked on her lower lip for a moment, and then she looked at Hessayon and asked, "Do you want to take over the appeal?"

Hessayon shook his head. "Only if it becomes absolutely necessary. Advertising my involvement might put Delon on his guard, and that's the last thing we want. I think it would be in Julian's best interests to send out messages of 'business as usual'."

Dinmont could have been offended at the idea that she was being used to lull the opposition into a false sense of security. However, the skin around her eyes crinkled and her lips curved upwards as she enjoyed the idea of being part of a conspiracy.

-=o=-

Sisko waited in the shadows outside the building where Fischer had his office. The shade provided him with a pleasant haven from the afternoon sun, although the lazy insects that hovered around his face got on his nerves.

Sisko's patience was eventually rewarded when Ensign McCauley exited the complex. She was, he was relieved to see, alone.

Wanting to attract her attention, he called out, "Ensign! Ensign McCauley!" He emerged from his hiding place and jogged to catch up with her.

Startled, McCauley exclaimed, "Captain!" She ground to a halt and placed a hand over her heart. Then only slightly more calmly, she asked, "What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you."

"I guessed that, but why?"

"Because I need your help, if you'll give it."

She turned wary eyes towards him. "My help?"

"Yes."

"What kind of help?" she said, as though she already had some inkling as to what he might be after.

"It's about Julian Bashir," he said.

She sighed. "I was afraid of that."

"You helped before," said Sisko.

"Yes, and I've been under suspicion ever since. They haven't been able to prove anything, but I'm sure Fischer and Roughsedge know I gave you that recording. I daren't do anything else for you. I'm sorry." She began to walk away from him, as though that would end the conversation.

Sisko doggedly matched her pace and said, "I see." Then he asked, "Do you like working for Admiral Fischer?"

McCauley didn't reply, but she stopped again and, after a long pause, she said, "What do you want me to do? Not that I'm promising anything."

"Have you been following the news?"

"Of course. The court case... Lilienfeld's piece in the FNS feed..."

"Then you know what Judge Momoh said about Fischer and Intelligence?"

"Yes," McCauley admitted.

"Do you think Admiral Fischer will 'clean house'?"

McCauley glanced nervously at him, and then said, "Honestly? No."

"Neither do I." They began walking again, more slowly this time. After a few paces, Sisko said, "Julian's appealing against the ruling of the Medical Standards Board. More than anything, he wants to be reinstated as a doctor."

"What has that got to do with me?"

"Did you know that Admiral Fischer is Pierre Delon's cousin?" At McCauley's blank look, Sisko said, "Delon is the chair of the MSB, and he chaired the tribunal panel that struck Julian off."

McCauley considered Sisko's words, then, carefully, she said, "I still don't see what that has to do with me." But, again, it sounded as though she might be beginning to suspect.

"I believe that Fischer...persuaded...Delon to strike Julian off. But I need something more than a hunch. I need proof. And I was hoping that you might be able to get it for me."

"Proof," said McCauley flatly. Then, with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm, she asked, "What kind of proof?"

"I don't know, exactly. Diary entries, perhaps? When and where did they meet? Private messages?"

"I—" McCauley paled. "What you're asking me... It's..."

"I realise that it's a lot to ask."

"A lot...?" McCauley's eyes goggled. "It's more than that! If I get caught, it'd destroy my career! I might even go to prison!"

Sisko said nothing, preferring to let McCauley figure things out for herself.

"The recording..." she said, as much to herself as to him. "That was a risk, but I knew—hoped—kidded myself—that they wouldn't be able to tie it back to me. Not for certain. But this...they'd know it was me. No-one else, besides Fischer himself, has permission to look at his appointment diary or his messages."

They walked on some more.

Then, finally, McCauley said, "I'd need...protection."

"How about a transfer?" asked Sisko.

"Where to?"

"It'd have to be to the USS Defiant and Deep Space Nine."

McCauley chuckled without humour. "How ironic. The safest place for me just might be on the front line in an upcoming war."

They walked on.

"I can't make you do it," said Sisko. "It has got to be your decision. But, just to let you know, I think you'd be doing a good thing."

McCauley looked at him and said, "That's the hell of it. So do I."

-=o=-

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

Thanks, as ever, to my faithful readers. Thanks, also, to those people who have come to the story in the last week and have decided to follow, favourite and review. You're all great!

I also want to say a particular thanks to SnickieFics, who asked a question in his / her review of chapter 27 and made me realise that perhaps I needed to address Jack's motivations in more detail. This chapter is pretty much the end result... (So, I do make tweaks and changes in light of comments, even though I claim to have the story drafted in full. Reviews do have an impact, though not usually as much as that one did!)

**Next week:** Julian's appeal hearing begins.


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter Thirty**

Julian was doing his best not to show just how nervous he was. However, he wasn't eating, preferring to push his breakfast around his plate, and he wasn't fooling anyone, least of all Sisko.

Julian's appeal date had finally arrived and, with it, his last chance to be reinstated as a doctor. Sisko knew that, if he didn't get his licence back, Julian would make do, but he also knew that anything else would be a poor second best. Julian was a doctor in all but name. It was in his blood and being. Sisko hoped that there would be a happy ending to Julian's story because, if anyone needed one, it was him. But Sisko also knew that people didn't always get what they wanted or deserved.

Sisko tapped on the table to attract Julian's attention and said, "It's time we were going."

Julian glanced up, nodded, and, giving up on his pretence of interest in the food with relief, pushed his plate away. He got to his feet.

Joseph tut-tutted as he eyed the leftovers, making his disappointment clear without actually saying anything. Instead, he wished Julian luck, and promised to see him later.

Sisko's comm badge chirped while he and Julian were readying themselves for transport. As he reached up to answer it, Sisko muttered, "Damn," under his breath. Then, in a more normal voice, he said, "Sisko here."

"Captain. This is Admiral Nechayev. Prepare to be beamed directly to Starfleet HQ." The channel closed before Sisko had a chance to either question or protest the command.

Sisko looked at Julian apologetically and said, "I'm sorry."

"These things happen." Julian shrugged. Sisko suspected that Julian was aiming for a gesture indicating studied nonchalance but, unfortunately, it came across more like an uncomfortable squirm.

"I'll join you as soon as I can," Sisko promised.

Julian was still nodding when the transporter beam snatched Sisko away.

Sisko materialised in an unfamiliar transporter room, where Nechayev, looking even more forbidding than usual, was waiting for him. Next to her stood Admiral Ross, who looked only marginally less annoyed. Sisko looked from one to the other, and then said, "What's going on? Sirs?"

Nechayev's lips pursed in displeasure. Then she said, "Fischer. McCauley. Mean anything to you, Captain?"

"Ah," Sisko said. He wondered just how much trouble he was—they were—in.

Ross made an odd grunting noise in the back of his throat that approximated to an acknowledgement of Sisko's monosyllabic reply and he said, "We need to talk."

The two admirals led Sisko out of the transporter room and into a corridor. They walked in silence for about fifty paces before Nechayev stopped abruptly and said, "In here."

"Here" turned out to be Nechayev's office, a large and airy room that verged on pretentious. Sisko thought that it suited her.

In one corner, a group of low-slung guest chairs had been arranged around a coffee table, and in one of the chairs, looking intimidated, huddled Ensign McCauley. A red-clad lieutenant stood between the ensign and the door. The lieutenant might not have been touting a weapon, but it was obvious that he was there to prevent McCauley from leaving.

Sisko looked at McCauley, took a couple of steps towards her, and said, "Ensign? Are you all right?"

She nodded, leapt to her feet, and burst into rapid-fire explanation. "Commander Roughsedge spotted me coming out of Fischer's office, and I didn't know what to do, but I bumped into Admirals Nechayev and Ross and—"

Nechayev interrupted and picked up the story. "The ensign was in quite a state. She kept saying, 'Don't let them get me,' and demanding protection as a whistle-blower. So we brought her here. Then, when she had calmed down enough to be coherent, she told us that she wouldn't tell us anything unless you were present."

Ross, arms crossed, looked at McCauley and said, "He's here now. Talk."

McCauley stared at Sisko, wide-eyed.

Sisko smiled in a way he hoped would reassure her and said, "I take it that you found something?"

"Yes, sir. I found lots of things. Rather more than you asked for."

Sisko nodded, turned back to the admirals, and said, "I asked Ensign McCauley to...do something for me. I take full responsibility for her actions."

"I see," said Nechayev flatly, although she didn't.

"And," said Sisko, "I think we should hear what she has to say, although I probably ought to give you a little background first."

"Very well," said Nechayev. "Keep it brief, though."

"As you are aware, over the last few weeks, I have been...involved...with the Julian Bashir case."

"You've sent in plenty of apologies and we've had to rearrange enough meetings to accommodate your court appearances that we'd be hard pressed not to be aware," said Nechayev repressively.

Ross made a speed-it-up gesture with his right hand.

Sisko refused to be rushed. He considered where to start and he realised that this was one of those rare instances where the best place to begin was almost certainly at the beginning.

"Julian Bashir was summoned back to Earth a couple of weeks before I was so that he could face disciplinary charges and be tested by Starfleet Medical. One of his friends was worried about him, so, before I left DS9, I made a promise that I would check on him while I was on Earth."

Nechayev held up a hand. Sounding resigned, she asked, "Is this going to take long?"

"Possibly," admitted Sisko.

She sighed unhappily. "In that case, let me cancel a couple of things, and then we'd better make ourselves comfortable." She quickly gave some instructions to the lieutenant, who hurried off to carry them out.

While Nechayev was thus occupied, Sisko took the opportunity to send an urgent, hastily composed message to Julian, Dinmont and Hessayon, hoping that one or other of them would pick it up before the appeal hearing got underway.

-=o=-

Julian felt vulnerable and very alone as he materialised outside the old city hall some hundred yards away from a gathering crowd of demonstrators.

Although the crowd made Julian pause, he gave himself a stern talking to. He told himself not to be so pathetic, that he was old enough to be out on his own, and that he didn't need Sisko to hold his metaphorical hand.

Perhaps Julian's arrival took the protestors by surprise, or perhaps they had left their eggs at home. Whatever the reason, Julian was extremely grateful when he made it to the building without incident. He jogged up the front steps.

Julian felt a surge of relief when he spotted a friendly face. Elizabeth Lilienfeld waved at him and beckoned him over to where she was standing with another woman.

The woman turned around as Julian approached, and Julian realised that he knew her, too. She'd changed her hairstyle and colour, and she'd put on weight, but the cant of her eyes and the shape of her lips were familiar.

Lilienfeld's companion walked towards him, thrust out her hand, and said, "Julian. It's good to see you again." If determination was an indication of sincerity, then she meant it.

"Augustine," said Julian. "Augustine Giradot."

She smiled at him. Hers wasn't a happy smile, but Julian could feel that her unhappiness wasn't directed at him. He understood; there were parallels between his own discovery of a family he hadn't known and her rediscovery of the brother she thought had died.

Augustine said, "Elizabeth told me about you, and about Delon and Jacques. I wanted to come here to hear for myself. She says that you've met him."

"Jack?" said Julian. "Yes, I have."

"What's he like?"

Julian wasn't sure how to answer. Should he say that Jack was angry and antagonistic? That Jack might be violent? Or should he simply say that Jack was his friend?

In the end, he was saved from saying anything, because Dinmont and Hessayon came rushing over, exclaiming, "There you are! Come on. We need to take our places."

-=o=-

Sisko and the two admirals joined McCauley at the coffee table, and Nechayev told Sisko to pick up his story where he'd left off.

Sisko quickly explained about finding Julian in the holosuite at Starfleet Medical, about rescuing him, and taking him home. Then Sisko told them what Roughsedge had said to Julian during the tribunal and how Fischer had later made pointed comments about wanting to recruit him. "We realised, Julian and I, that Starfleet Intelligence was up to something, but we didn't really know what. And then Julian got his transfer orders, which led to the court case and—"

"I follow the news," said Nechayev repressively. "Get on with it."

Ross nodded his agreement.

Not letting Nechayev's interruption faze him, Sisko said, "We also knew that Pierre Delon did not act fairly at Julian's disciplinary tribunal. Maybe Delon is simply prejudiced against the genetically enhanced. Lots of people are. Then again, maybe there was something more to his behaviour. We recently learned that, thirty years ago, Pierre Delon left a child at the Institute and forged a death certificate, and we found ourselves wondering whether Fischer might also have been involved back then and, again, more recently."

"Why would Fischer...?" asked Ross, trying to keep up.

"I'm not entirely sure," said Sisko. "But I do know that Fischer and Delon are cousins." Sisko took a deep breath and said, "And that's where Ensign McCauley comes in. As you must be aware, Julian Bashir is appealing the MSB's decision. I wanted to find out whether there was any concrete evidence to link Delon and Fischer together that might account for Delon's determination to strike Julian Bashir off. So I asked the ensign to check Fischer's diary for appointments." Sisko glanced at McCauley, and the two admirals followed suit.

Sisko hadn't done the explanation justice. He knew his story sounded weak and unconvincing. No wonder the admirals looked sceptical and McCauley was acting as though she regretted ever having got involved. McCauley blushed and cringed under the scrutiny of so much brass and she began to twine her fingers together nervously.

-=o=-

Hessayon tapped Julian and Dinmont on their shoulders, then he leaned forward so that his head was between theirs. Very quietly, he said, "Captain Sisko has sent us a message. He thinks he might be on to something."

"What kind of something?" asked Julian, half-turning his head towards Hessayon's.

"Something about Fischer. He sounded as though he was in a hurry and he didn't say much, although he promised that he'll be as quick as he can. He said that you need to stall."

"And how am I meant to do that?" asked Dinmont. Julian drew no comfort from the hint of panic that tainted her words.

"I don't know," said Hessayon. Then, thinking aloud, he said, "Put Dr Loews on first. It'll take a while to get through her evidence. If that doesn't buy us enough time, then Julian'll have to talk for as long as possible. After that... We'll have to think of something else."

Dinmont nodded, although she seemed neither reassured by Hessayon's advice nor happy about having to adapt their carefully choreographed plan of campaign. "Would you mind telling Dr Loews about the change?"

"Will do," said Hessayon. He withdrew hastily.

Not wanting to attract any unnecessary attention to what was going on, Julian tried not to watch as Hessayon scuttled over to Loews, crouched down next to her, and began to talk.

While he was carefully not watching Hessayon talking to Loews, Julian caught sight of another familiar face: Palis Delon.

Palis was pushing her way along a row of seats, heading for Augustine Giradot, her expression one of delighted surprise.

Julian blinked. He'd known that the two women knew each other, but he'd had no idea that they were close, and yet their reunion looked more like the meeting of old friends than of casual acquaintances.

Although...as he looked more closely, Julian could see that Palis was happier about the meeting than was Augustine. Augustine looked embarrassed and uncomfortable.

Palis grew concerned, touching Augustine's arm and leaning in towards her. Palis's lips were moving and her forehead was creasing into a frown. Julian suspected that Palis was asking Augustine what was wrong.

Julian looked away, knowing that, if all went according to plan, Palis would be blindsided by the evidence that they intended to present. Palis, along with Pierre Delon, and just about everyone else had no idea what was about to hit them.

But Augustine knew. Augustine knew exactly what Pierre Delon had done. No wonder she was uncomfortable.

A flurry of activity at the front of the room grabbed Julian's attention, along with that of almost everyone else. Delon and the disciplinary panel were filing in.

Today, Delon and the panel had been joined by Caspar Lynch, who took up a chair to one side of the stage. Julian hoped that Lynch's presence was a good sign. Judging by the glances Delon was darting in Lynch's direction, Julian thought that it just might be.

Lynch and the panel took their seats, and the rest of the room settled down until only Delon remained standing. He looked around, called the proceedings to order, and ran through the preliminaries. Finally, he invited Dinmont to make her opening remarks.

Dinmont stood up. "At the original disciplinary tribunal, the defence's evidence relating to Julian Bashir was discounted, apparently because all his good qualities were outweighed by one bad: he was genetically enhanced, and that fact trumped everything else. We would now like to revisit the tribunal's ruling on two grounds. First, we'd like to challenge the assumptions made about the character traits that were ascribed to _all_ genetically enhanced individuals. Second, we'd like to question the conduct and the ...professionalism...of the Board's Chair."

Delon looked outraged. "What possible grounds could you have for questioning my conduct, my very integrity?"

"Ah," said Dinmont with a small smile. "Integrity. Are we allowed to question that, too? Because we would certainly like to."

"That's...preposterous! And it's not relevant! We are here to hear Julian Bashir's appeal, not for you to cast aspersions on my character!"

"But if those 'aspersions' influenced how you behaved towards Lieutenant Bashir? Do they not then _become_ relevant? Particularly if they are not aspersions at all, but are the truth?"

Julian watched, fascinated, as Delon's face took on a distinctly florid hue. He hoped the angry flush was due to Delon's outrage and not to some more serious physiological cause.

"I want this discussion struck from the record," shouted Delon.

Lynch spoke up. "Ms Dinmont is within her rights to have her remarks included as part of her opening statement, if she wishes. You cannot have them struck from the record simply because they offend you." Then he turned to face the defence table. "However, I would caution you, Ms Dinmont, that, if you wish to make these kinds of comments, you must be prepared to back them up."

Dinmont inclined her head slightly and said, "I don't make my...comments...lightly."

"Very well. Carry on," said Lynch.

Julian felt his spirits lift, and his heart thumped with excitement.

-=o=-

"Well, Ensign?" asked Nechayev. "What have you got to say for yourself."

McCauley stood up, turned her back on them all, fiddled with the front of her uniform, and extracted something she'd hidden about her person. She refastened her uniform, turned around, and, as she sat down again, held the something out. "It's all on here," she said. "Memos, messages, times, dates, names..."

For a moment none of the others moved, all deferring to someone else. However, when Sisko reached for the proffered data chip, Nechayev sprang to life and snatched it out of McCauley's hand before he could take it.

Nechayev strode across the room to her computer desk and thrust the chip into a slot. "Computer: show the contents of chip as file directories, with summary views of the files' contents."

From where he was sitting, Sisko could just about see the lists, words and images began to appear on computer screen.

"Well?" demanded Ross, his impatience mirroring Sisko's own.

"There's only the one folder on the chip, but it's big...and it appears to be devoted entirely to Bashir," said Nechayev.

"What?" asked Sisko blankly. He got up and walked over to Nechayev's side and looked over her shoulder. Then, pointing, he said, "From these dates, it looks as though the folder was set up soon after Julian arrived on Earth, although some of the files are older."

"Oh?" said Nechayev.

"This one here..." said Sisko, pointing. "That's Counsellor Telnorri's psych report. Telnorri wrote it only a few days after Julian's genetic status was revealed, weeks before Julian left DS9." He looked at the other items in the directory and asked, again pointing, "What are these?"

Nechayev opened the files.

Sisko frowned. "Where did Fischer get this?" he muttered, recognising the summons, relating to the disciplinary charges, that Julian had received from the MSB. The next file was the communication Starfleet Medical had sent, recalling Julian for testing.

As they continued to explore, Nechayev and Sisko kept up a running commentary, so that Ross and McCauley, who were still sitting across the room, knew what was going on.

They found copies of Tsonga's report, a copy of the message Julian had thought Tsonga had sent, calling him to Medical on his day off, and copies of the reports Julian and Worf had filed about the Dominion camp. Then, most damning yet, Nechayev and Sisko found the specifications for a holosuite programme.

They dug deeper...messages between Fischer and Delon...Fischer and Roughsedge...Fischer and undercover agents...pictures of Sisko's restaurant...orders...

"Bloody bastard!" exploded Sisko. "He orchestrated the riot! My father's restaurant! They vandalised it and threw a brick through the window! And he organised the death threats! Why?"

"I think," said Nechayev, "that we'd better have a word with Fischer, too."

-=o=-

"For the record, please state your name and current position," said Dinmont.

Seated at the witness table, Loews said, "My name is Dr Karen Loews. I am currently seconded to the psychiatric facility colloquially known as the Institute."

"Where you work as a psychiatrist?"

"I am a practicing physician, qualified in general medicine and surgery. However, my principle specialism is in psychiatry, and my main role at the Institute is to provide psychiatric care to its residents."

"You have been called to give evidence at this hearing because you have experience of working with genetically enhanced patients."

"Yes."

"In short, you are an expert."

"Yes."

Julian suppressed a smile. He knew that Loews didn't consider herself an expert. She didn't believe that any real experts existed within the Federation. But Hessayon had briefed Dinmont and Loews well, and he had persuaded Loews that her usual self-deprecating response wouldn't be appropriate in this setting. She shouldn't worry about how she saw herself. All that mattered was how others saw her. If Starfleet Medical considered, and was prepared to use, her as an expert, then she was an expert. As far as the hearing went, all that was required was for her to have an opinion and for her to be more of an expert than anyone else.

"Am I right in saying that the prevailing view of the medical establishment is that genetic enhancement of humans is dangerous because it leads to serious side effects in the individuals being enhanced?" asked Dinmont.

"Yes."

"And, it's a widely held view that violence and megalomania are likely consequences of enhancement?"

"Yes," said Loews again.

"Is there any truth in that view?"

"I don't believe so, no."

"Why not?"

"Because we lack sufficient evidence to support that hypothesis."

"So, we should not assume, just because Julian Bashir has been enhanced, that he is likely to suffer from megalomaniacal or violent tendencies?"

"No. Even if the statistics bore out that view—which they don't—a statistical population may not include the experiences of specific individuals."

"In other words, Julian Bashir could be an exception to a more general rule, if that rule actually existed. Which, in your view, it does not."

"Exactly," said Loews with a slight upward twitch of her lips.

Dinmont paused, then said, "You say that you do not have enough evidence to know for sure that the genetically enhanced are dangerous. Were not the twentieth-century Augments an adequate sample size from which to draw conclusions? Especially when considered in conjunction with the embryos Arik Soong reared?"

"No."

"Again, I have to ask you, why not?"

"Are you familiar with the case of the Moab 4 colonists?"

For the benefit of the hearing's participants, panel and public, Dinmont said, "This is the incident that recently came to light during the Bashir versus Starfleet court case."

"Yes," agreed Loews.

Dinmont directed her next comment to the panel, to make sure that they understood. "The USS Enterprise found a colony of humans on Stardate 45470.1. This colony was founded, and has been perpetuated, by Augmented individuals." She turned back to Loews and said, "That's right, isn't it?"

"Yes," said Loews.

"And the...techniques...used in the production of the colonists and their descendants were similar to those used to create the twentieth-century Augments?"

"Yes. The Moab 4 colonists use embryonic screening and, when necessary, genomic manipulation. In short, if we are to consider the twentieth-century Augments as a guide to whether or not genetic engineering works, we should also include the Moab 4 colonists into that statistical group for analysis. And, if we do that, then we discover that the results of our analysis yields no statistical evidence to support the claim that Augmented individuals are any more predisposed towards violence than is the general population."

"Because there is no indication that the Moab 4 colonists show any increased tendencies towards violence or aggression?"

"Correct."

Hunter got to his feet and said, "Objection: the twentieth-century Augments and the Moab 4 colonists are irrelevant. The process of genetic engineering used on them is not the same as that which was used on Julian Bashir. Therefore, this evidence does not relate to him, or to this case."

Delon peered down at Dinmont and said, "Well?"

Dinmont inclined her head slightly and said, "My colleague is correct in saying that the processes used to enhance my client aren't the same. And that is the issue I was about to address next."

Delon glanced at Lynch, who nodded. "Objection overruled," said Delon. Was it Julian's imagination, or did Delon sound grudging?

Delon said, "Continue, Ms Dinmont."

Dinmont turned towards Loews and said, "As Mr Hunter has brought the subject up... Can you please tell us how the processes used on Julian Bashir differ from those used to create the twentieth-century Augments and the Moab 4 colonists?"

Loews straightened in her seat. "The twentieth-century Augments were engineered by altering the genetic structure of their embryos. The treatments that Julian Bashir and my patients received were administered post-natally. Accelerated critical neural pathway formation is an entirely different process to embryonic genomic manipulation. An analogy might be...travelling by shuttle or travelling by transporter. Both are forms of transport. Both can get you to the same destination. But the processes, the technology used, and the risks associated with each, are different."

"Can you extend the medical orthodoxy from one technique to provide an indication of the likely results of the other?"

"Almost certainly not, although the medical community had always chosen to do so in the case of the genetically enhanced."

"So, what can you tell us about the likely effects of enhancement on individuals who are subjected to... What was it? Accelerated critical neural pathway formation?"

"Very little, at least in robust statistical terms."

"What do you mean by that?"

"We do not know what the total population size of all genetically enhanced people is, so we cannot calculate the proportion of enhanced people who experience unintentional side effects."

"You're suggesting that, as we don't know how many people have been enhanced, we can't determine how dangerous the process is?"

"Yes."

"And, why do we not know how many people have been enhanced?"

"Because the process is illegal in the Federation, and we don't know how many people have received these treatments in secret."

"Like Julian Bashir did."

"Yes."

"Go on, Doctor..."

Loews nodded and continued. "Additionally, you have to bear in mind that there is almost certainly a bias in the sample of those that we _do_ know about. Only those who cannot blend in, perhaps because they have the kinds of difficulties we associate with the stereotypical Augment, are likely to come to attention of either the authorities or the medical community."

"Julian Bashir blended in to society until his parents gave away his secret, didn't he?"

"Yes."

"So... You're suggesting that we have no good evidence to support the view that Julian Bashir might be dangerous, either to himself or to society."

"None whatsoever."

Dinmont paused, took a breath, and said, "Tell me, Doctor. How come nobody thought to present any of this information at the original hearing?"

"The incident with the Moab 4 colonists hadn't been widely broadcast. I have only recently learned about them."

"Really. How recently is recently?"

"In the last several weeks. In the run up to the court case."

"Since the original disciplinary hearing?"

"Yes."

"At this point," said Dinmont, "I'd also like to point out that the defence's understanding was that the original hearing was convened to consider the actions of Julian Bashir as an individual, as a doctor, and not the behaviour of the genetically enhanced as a group."

"So," said Lynch, ignoring the way Delon was scowling at him, "you are presenting this information as new evidence, pertinent to the original case?"

"Yes," said Dinmont.

There was a collective murmur around the room. Julian wondered whether that was a good or a bad sign. When the whispers had died away, Dinmont asked Loews, "In your expert psychiatric opinion, is Julian Bashir dangerous?"

"No." A faint smile twitched Loews's lips, making it apparent just how ludicrous she thought the question was.

"All right, moving on... You currently have four genetically enhanced patients at the Institute. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"All of whom are suffering from the side effects of enhancement, at least to some degree?"

"Yes."

"And...of these four patients, do any show signs of violent behaviour?"

"One."

"And, how does that rate of incidence of violent behaviour relate to violent behaviour in the unenhanced population?"

"I can't tell you, as we don't know the wider population size."

"Of course."

"However..." began Loews, before falling silent.

"However?" asked Dinmont.

"There is a school of thought... It's my belief that the basic personality traits of patients who are subjected to accelerated critical neural pathway treatments have already been established prior to the treatments being carried out. So, the tendencies towards violence in such a patient may well have existed prior to, rather than being a side effect of, enhancement.

Julian gasped softly. That was more or less what O'Brien had said, right back at the beginning, when Julian had confessed what had been done to him. O'Brien had told him that he wasn't a fraud and that, no matter how many enhancements his parents had had done, genetic recoding couldn't have given him ambition, compassion, or a personality. Julian had discounted O'Brien's words back then. Now here was Loews saying much the same thing. So, maybe it was true.

Maybe Jules Bashir lived on inside him, after all.

"So, to be clear about this... Unenhanced humans can show violent tendencies, can't they?"

"Yes."

"And they can seek power and be ambitious?"

"Yes."

"And, we have no evidence to support the view that Julian Bashir is any more dangerous than any other individual?"

"We do not."

"And, in fact, based on all the psychiatric testing that he has been subjected to in recent weeks, and based on his professional record to date, we have plenty of evidence to suggest that he is perfectly stable and poses no risk to society, or to anyone in it?"

"Yes. That's correct."

Dinmont took a deep breath and straightened. "Thank you, Dr Loews."

Delon turned to Hunter and said, "Do you wish to cross-examine?"

Hunter nodded as he got to his feet and said, "I do." He walked around his table, pursed his lips, looked at Loews, and then said, "You said that we have no sound statistical evidence to support the view that Julian Bashir might be dangerous, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"But we don't have any good statistical evidence to suggest that he isn't, either, do we?"

"We have the psych profiles and his servi—"

"Which are open to interpretation. In fact, they might even be considered to be...anecdotal...at best. At this point, your argument is merely a hypothesis, isn't it? At the very least, we would need more research for it to be accepted as a theory, let along as fact."

Never before had Julian felt so frustrated with the scientific method! He grabbed a stylus and began to scrawl a note on a PADD.

Reluctantly, Loews said, "I suppose so, yes."

"So...everything you have said about statistical populations, and about how the medical orthodoxy might be wrong, is just your opinion, isn't it?"

"It is my opinion, which I formulated after careful consideration and examination of the available evidence, yes."

"In which case," said Hunter, "until such time as further research proves otherwise, we should continue to adhere to prevailing wisdom."

Loews opened her mouth to protest, but Hunter forestalled her. "That was not a question."

Julian slid his hastily constructed note across to Dinmont and then started scribbling on a second PADD.

Dinmont read the note, glanced at Julian, stood up, and said, "Objection. Mr Hunter is deliberately misunderstanding my witness's evidence."

Hunter glared at her. "I am not."

Julian passed the second PADD to Dinmont, who read what he had written as fast as she could. She nodded to herself and then looked across at Hunter. Trying to sound as though she was in full command of her argument, she said, "You are assuming that statistical analysis is the only valid method for interpreting the evidence. But it is not appropriate to apply such a method to very small numbers—or individuals."

"Precisely my point," said Hunter.

"No, it isn't," said Dinmont. "Your point is that we cannot make any robust conclusions about Julian Bashir because we don't have the statistics to back them up. My point is that other methods—other research approaches—enable us to—"

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" snapped Delon. "This is an appeal hearing, not an academic debate about the philosophy of enquiry!"

Lynch nodded his agreement. "The Chair has a point. Moreover, the panel's members are all well-versed in research methods, so I think we can safely leave it up to them to decide on the merits, or otherwise, of your arguments."

Hunter looked very smug as he said, "No further questions," and sat down.

"Do you have any final questions for your witness?" asked Delon of Dinmont.

"Yes," said Dinmont. "Dr Loews, just to confirm... There are other valid—and respected—research approaches that can be used to understand the behaviours of individuals, aren't there?"

"Yes."

Dinmont had to know that she was pushing her luck as she disregarded Lynch's and Delon's comments and pursued her point. She continued, anyway.

"And you were mindful of those approaches when you drew your conclusions, weren't you?"

"Yes. Of course," said Loews.

"No further questions."

Delon turned to Loews and said, "You may step down.

-=o=-

When, after a ten-minute break, Delon reconvened the hearing, there was still no sign of Sisko.

Dinmont called Julian as her next witness. As he walked towards the witness table, he felt twitchy, wondering how long they could stall for.

When Julian had settled into his seat, Dinmont said, "Dr Loews's evidence has called into question the prevailing orthodoxy relating to genetically enhanced individuals. Now, please can you tell the panel what your experiences have been, since your genetic status became public knowledge?"

"Objection!" cried Hunter, leaping to his feet. "What possible purpose can this line of questioning have? By inviting him to make an unfocussed statement, you are prolonging these proceedings unnecessarily."

Dinmont shook her head. "I will demonstrate relevance," she said.

"When?" challenged Hunter.

"In due course," said Dinmont. Julian wondered whether Dinmont had crossed her fingers behind her back.

Delon looked as though he wanted to uphold Hunter's objection, but he restrained himself. He glanced at Lynch, who took Delon's glance as an invitation to comment. "I think we can allow some leeway here. However, please keep your testimony relevant, Mr Bashir."

Julian did his best not to flinch at the way Lynch had chosen to address him. He swallowed, nodded, and said, "Yes, sir." Then he took a deep breath, knowing that he needed to get this right. He didn't only want to win. He wanted people to understand. "Since my genetic status became public knowledge, I have been prejudged by most people I've met. I expected nothing less. After all, we've all been brought up to believe that the genetically enhanced are intrinsically evil...that the potential to do terrible things lies within anyone who has been...changed. For the longest time, I hated what was done to me. I hated what I am. I hated _myself_. But, recently, I've begun to change. I still hate what was done to me, but I'm learning—"

The doors at the back of the chamber swung open with a bang. "You can't keep me out!" screamed a woman. "I won't let you! I have important information!"

"Mama?" exclaimed a startled voice from among the spectators. Julian looked around and saw Augustine rising to her feet. "What are you doing here?"

Heads—Julian's included—turned to look at the newcomer. Then Julian twisted his neck to see what the panel's reaction was.

Up on the stage, Pierre Delon paled.

-=o=-

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

Another week...another chapter...and we're getting closer to the end. Only a few more chapters to go.

Meanwhile, thanks for your continuing support, and thanks to those of you who have reviewed. (No new people favouriting or following this week, but I continue to appreciate the 'old hands'!)

**NEXT CHAPTER**: More about Fischer, Sandrine's story, and the outcome of the appeal.


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter Thirty-one**

"This hearing is a farce! Pierre Delon is a hypocrite, and he has no right to pass judgment on anything!" yelled Sandrine Giradot.

Delon recovered himself enough to shout, "Get that woman out of here!"

A couple of security officers moved forward to grab her. Sandrine screamed as she shook them off. Then she shouted, even more loudly and indignantly than Delon had done: "Don't you _dare_ touch me!" She looked slightly deranged as her eyes flashed and she held her hands out to fend the guards off.

Augustine bumped against the knees and ankles of the people in her row who didn't stand up out of her way quickly enough as she made her way to the aisle.

When Augustine reached her mother's side, she put her hand on Sandrine's forearm. In the kind of voice that his nurses would have used with particularly skittish patients, Julian heard her say, "Calm down. We know what he did. He faked a birth certificate and left Jacques at the Institute." Judging from the confused and curious reactions of the other people in the room, Julian was one of a very select few who had managed to make her comments out.

"And the rest of it? Do you know about that?" demanded Sandrine.

"The rest—?" asked Augustine, and her consternation mirrored Julian's own. "You mean there's more?"

Augustine's mother scoffed. "I thought so. You _don't_ know." She raised her voice and took care to enunciate clearly so that her words would reach the panel. "None of you have any idea. Pierre Delon has done things far worse than anything Julian Bashir could possibly be guilty of. Julian Bashir is paying the price for having had to deal with something that was done to him. But who did it? Why don't you punish—"

"His father _is_ being punished," interrupted Hunter impatiently.

Delon, from the stage, said, "You're talking nonsense." Then, addressing everyone at once, he asked, "Would you believe the ramblings of a known alcoholic?"

"How _dare you!_ I haven't had a drink in days. Not since Augustine came to see me, to ask about you!"

"I had nothing to do with the enhancement of Julian Bashir," said Delon, defending himself. "He was enhanced on Adigeon Prime. You can't possibly connect me with that!"

"No," agreed Sandrine. "But you had _everything_ to do with the enhancement of another little boy, didn't you! My son, Jacques Giradot. Or are you going to lie and deny that you had anything to do with that?"

Earlier in the appeal hearing, Delon had looked florid. Now he looked ashen. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.

"You see?" exclaimed Sandrine and, like Delon, she talked to the whole room. She pointed, holding her arm and finger rigidly horizontal. "He _can't_ deny the truth!"

Looking at Delon, Julian, along with everyone else, could tell that she was right. Delon might try to bluster, deny and prevaricate, but his expression and the colour of his face told the real story.

Lynch stood. "This is most irregular." He sounded as though this extreme departure from normal procedures had left him completely bamboozled and unsure how to proceed.

Roget levered himself to his feet. "Irregular, yes, but perhaps we can pause the formal hearing and listen to what this lady—"

"Sandrine Giradot," said Sandrine.

"This is preposterous!" objected Delon. "Outrageous! You can't seriously be thinking of letting her disrup—"

Roget spoke over Delon's protests. "—has to say."

"Yes... Pause the hearing. Yes, that might work," said Lynch, gathering himself together. Then he nodded firmly, committing himself to a course of action.

He faced the room and said, "This appeals hearing is hereby paused until further notice." Then he called out, "Ms Giradot. If you care to take a seat here...?" He gestured to the witness table.

Without being asked, Julian got up and returned to Dinmont's side.

Sandrine's righteous fury had carried her this far, but now that she had everyone's attention, she looked nervous and uncertain. Augustine nudged her. "Go on, Mama."

"All right..."

All eyes on her, Sandrine walked slowly to the front of the hall, sat down, and looked around.

From the stage, Roget said, "Go on. You came here to tell us something. Well, now you have our attention. Proceed." His manner was gentle, and almost kind.

Tentatively, Sandrine began to speak. "Thirty-five years ago, we—my husband and I—had a child. A little boy. We called him Jacques. Then, two years later, we adopted Augustine." She gestured towards her daughter, who had moved to stand at the back of the chamber.

"We loved both our children very much." Sandrine's voice grew stronger and more confident as she got into the detail of her story. "However, Jacques was a difficult child. We started to notice things. He was late in starting to hold his head up on his own. He was late in learning to crawl...to walk...to talk. He didn't react to stimuli. To begin with, we told ourselves that he'd catch up; all babies are different. But eventually..."

Sandrine sighed gustily with remembered sadness. "Finally, we could lie to ourselves no longer. Jacques wasn't like other children. He was slow. He couldn't communicate and he got frustrated easily. And, when he got frustrated, he'd get angry. He'd pinch and hit and bite. And, although I loved him, I couldn't cope. I was at my wits' end. And Philippe—my husband—was little help. He was—and still is—an ambitious man. He worked long hours. He was away a lot of the time, trying to make a name for himself. He's an academic, and he was determined to make full professor by the time he turned forty."

Sandrine stared unseeingly into the middle distance as she looked into the past. "We'd struggled so hard to have a child, and... I tried to love Jacques. I did love him. But I couldn't like him. And then, one day, I caught him hitting Augustine. At two, Augustine was already brighter and more alert than her four-year-old brother. She was nicer, too."

"Excuse me," interjected Roget, "but is this relevant? Why are you telling us this?"

"Because I want you to understand."

Julian didn't think he'd ever understand. Was Sandrine really trying to justify what she had done to her child? Because it wasn't justifiable. It was Jack's story, and Julian felt a kinship to Jack. The story was similar to his own, and Julian remembered having a nebulous sense of not being what his parents wanted.

"Very well, carry on," said Roget. "But, please, get to the point."

Sandrine nodded and said, "Jacques was... This is a terrible thing for a mother to say, but... He was a disappointment. Then, one day, Philippe told me that he'd heard about a treatment, something radical. It was risky but, if it worked, it would solve all our problems, ours and Jacques'. It sounded too good to be true."

Sandrine's face crumpled. Her eyes closed, and tears flowed past her lowered lids and down her face. She didn't bother to wipe them away. Julian wasn't even sure that she was aware of what she was doing. He wished she wouldn't cry, because he couldn't feel any sympathy with what she was feeling, not when he knew how the story ended.

"Philippe made all the arrangements. He took Jacques away for a few days. Then he brought him home again, and Jacques could talk. He could run and jump and play. I thought that it was a miracle, and, for a while, everything was wonderful! But underneath it all, Jacques was the same child he'd always been. He was volatile and violent, and with his new-found intelligence, he was dangerous with it." Her voice dropped to a whisper so that even Julian, with his enhanced hearing, struggled to hear her. "We'd changed him, but we hadn't made him better."

Sandrine swallowed and then, after a couple of seconds, she continued. "We couldn't cope. Philippe stayed away more and more. He was beginning to make a name for himself, and he wasn't going to change his life to accommodate a child...a difficult child. But he also stayed away because it hurt him to see Jacques the way he was now. And I couldn't manage on my own. We...it put a strain on our relationship, and I feared so much for Augustine—"

"Don't use me to justify what you did!" yelled Augustine. "Don't you dare use me as an excuse!"

Sandrine stared imploringly at Augustine, willing her to forgive. She wrung her hands as she wailed, "I'm not. I'm just trying to explain. It was so many things. It was all too much, and we couldn't cope."

"That's not good en—" snapped Augustine, who looked nauseated. The crowd rumbled agreement.

"Order!" yelled Lynch. Then, when Augustine and the crowd had settled down, he turned back to Sandrine and said, "Carry on."

"One day, I came home, and Jacques was gone. Philippe told me that he'd talked everything over with Pierre, and that Pierre had suggested...he'd said...that there was a place where they looked after people like Jacques."

"If you can call it looking after," muttered Julian under his breath, thinking of everything Loews had told him about how she'd found the mutants decades later, when she'd arrived at the Institute. Knowing that Jack had been abandoned had been bad enough, but having to hear the details...! It hurt Julian to listen and his skin crawled.

"Pierre had taken Jacques to the Institute and left him there. My little boy...all alone..." A fresh cascade of tears began streaming down Sandrine's face, and this time she found a handkerchief, began to dab at her eyes, and then, uncaring, she swiped at her face with a savagery that left it smeared with smudged and half-removed make-up. "I hated what they'd done."

Unable to help himself, Julian exclaimed, "But you didn't do anything to _undo_ it, did you?"

Sandrine stared at him, as though his accusation had taken her by surprise. Then she said, "No. No I didn't. I hated what they'd done. I hated myself. I felt so guilty but, more than that, I felt _relieved _because Jacques had become someone else's problem."

Julian's own parents had never dealt well with the more difficult aspects of what life with Jules and, later, Julian entailed. They'd shied away from offering him comfort when the going got tough. But, Julian realised, they'd never given up on him. It would never have crossed their minds to leave him on the doorstep of the Institute.

Julian's parents had sacrificed so much for him, choosing to live quietly and away from family, friends and prying eyes. They had made a poor decision for the best of reasons: they'd wanted the best for their child. They had reordered their lives for him in a way that Jack's parents had failed to do. Julian could see that now. And, recently, Richard and Amsha had come through for him, when he'd needed them most.

Sandrine shook her head and, after a couple of seconds, she started to speak again. "That should have been the end of it. But it wasn't. A couple of weeks later, some policemen turned up and started asking questions. They wanted DNA samples. We were so scared! If they found out... Philippe's career would be over... Illegal genetic engineering... We could go to prison, and what would happen to Augustine then? We had to do something."

Julian's thoughts raced. Jacques's parents had wanted an easy child, one who smiled, behaved well, and achieved. They'd wanted a child to be proud of and to show off, a child worthy of his socially ambitious parents. In short, they'd wanted a trophy child. And when they hadn't got what they'd wanted...

"Philippe went to see Pierre again." Sandrine waved carelessly over her shoulder, in Delon's general direction. "Philippe said, at the very least, he had to warn Pierre... And, when he came home again, he was much happier. He said that everything would be all right now. Pierre knew someone who could arrange everything."

"Did he say how? Or who?" asked Julian, unable to stop himself.

"How... I only knew as much as I needed to. I didn't want to know more. And I never knew who. All I knew was that there was a body and a funeral, and I had to stand beside a grave and pretend that we were burying my son. I didn't have to pretend too hard, either, because I knew that I was never going to see him again, and it was almost like saying a final good-bye."

Julian's stomach twisted. Did anyone else feel as repulsed by Sandrine's story as he did? Or did he feel differently because he knew Jack, and he'd seen the damage that Delon and the Giradots had caused?

"So... You've come here today to tell us that Pierre Delon left your son at the Institute and then helped to cover up the crimes you had committed?" Roget looked disgusted, and Julian was perversely comforted by the fact that at least one other person in the room felt much as he did.

"Yes, but that's only a part of it."

"What more could there be?" said Roget. "Unless... Did Monsieur Delon _procure_ the procedure?" He sounded incredulous, as though what he was suggesting was beyond belief.

"No!" snapped Sandrine. "He did worse! He did it! _He carried it out!_"

A leaden silence fell over the chamber, a moment that stretched like the long seconds that separate a flash of lightening from a clap of thunder.

Then, as people's thoughts began to move again, the silence was broken by whispers that quickly crescendoed into louder, overlapping conversations and exclamations.

Hunter found his voice and managed to splutter, "This is...outrageous! Slanderous! Monsieur Delon is right. This woman is a raving lun—"

Dinmont was on her feet, squaring off against Hunter. "Shut up, you stupid man! You don't know what you're talking about! We have copies of Jacques Giradot's death certificate, _signed by Pierre Delon_, and we have evidence that Jacques Giradot's grave contains cloned material. We can prove that Jacques Giradot is still alive and is living at the Institute!"

They hadn't wanted to present this information yet, not until they knew exactly what Sisko had found out. However, events had overtaken them.

Elizabeth Lilienfeld was also getting to her feet, with Loews not far behind, both ready to corroborate Dinmont's claims.

The meeting descended into chaos.

-=o=-

At Sisko's suggestion, the admirals had allowed McCauley to leave well before Fischer arrived, thus protecting her from a potentially uncomfortable encounter, and now Ross, Nechayev, Sisko and Fischer were seated around Nechayev's coffee table, steaming mugs set out in front of them. In Sisko's opinion, the pretence of relaxed informality bordered on farce. Moreover, it wasn't fooling anyone.

Fischer sat with his legs crossed and his face set in a belligerent scowl. He'd been annoyed to receive his summons, and his unhappiness had segued into something darker and more resentful when he'd found out the reason for it.

The admirals were role-playing a civilised conversation, and their stilted and unconvincing exchanges reminded Sisko of poorly executed amateur dramatics.

"When did you first get interested in Bashir?" Nechayev asked.

"Soon after the news of his enhancements came out," Fischer answered. He brushed some imaginary lint from his trouser leg. "As soon as it became public knowledge that Bashir was an Augment, he became a person of interest to Starfleet Intelligence. To begin with, we assumed that Bashir was a threat to the Federation. But then things began to change."

"Things," said Nechayev. "What kind of things."

"My cousin happened to mention that Bashir didn't match the usual stereotype for an Augment. Pierre had known him before, you see, and he told me that Bashir had always seemed to be well adjusted. Personable, even, if a little immature at times."

"So, all this was based on a conversation that you had with your cousin?" said Nechayev sceptically.

"Of course not. That was just the starting point. After that, we began covert surveillance, and I started to gather information."

"What kind of information?" asked Ross, despite the fact that he already knew what was on the data chip.

"Counsellor Telnorri's report, for one thing. According to Telnorri, Bashir posed no threat to anyone, and, despite being enhanced, he was still what everyone had previously assumed him to be: a loyal officer and a dedicated physician. So I...encouraged Medical to test him fully, and the MSB required him to face disciplinary charges."

Fischer paused. He took an excessively long time over taking, picking up, sipping from, and then putting back down his mug. Finally, he continued, saying, "Dr Loews agreed with Telnorri's conclusions. So, if Julian Bashir wasn't a threat, what was he? I realised that, if Bashir was everything Pierre, Telnorri and Loews suggested _and_ he had the abilities of an Augment, he could be a very useful asset to the Intelligence community. Tsonga's report indicated that he presented us with a unique opportunity...if he could be persuaded to join us."

Fischer's eyes suddenly flashed with a spark of fanaticism. "Haven't you ever wondered—" he started, looking straight at Sisko.

"Wondered what?" asked Sisko.

Fischer looked at Nechayev, Ross and Sisko in turn, and then he asked, "Haven't you ever wondered just how amazing Bashir would be, if he ever got over himself enough to work to the limits of his abilities?"

Nechayev and Ross looked to Sisko for an answer. Sisko considered. Then he said doubtfully, "He'd be incredible." But Sisko knew that Julian had a long way to go before he would feel comfortable enough to make full use of his abilities. In fact, Sisko wasn't sure that it would ever happen because Julian would not only have to come fully to terms with himself, he would also have to overcome his ingrained reluctance to draw attention to the abilities his enhancements had given him. But...Julian comfortable in his own skin and working to his full potential... That would be a sight to behold, wouldn't it?

"Everything indicated that Bashir was dedicated to his chosen profession, so, how could we...lure...him into the intelligence business?" said Fischer. "And we thought that Telnorri's report held the key."

"How so?" asked Ross.

"Telnorri talked about his need to belong, and his desire to form strong personal relationships. Those were things that we could use."

"Use, how?" asked Nechayev, sounding more curious than condemnatory.

"If Telnorri's report were to be believed, Bashir had no real support network. If I could...forge...the kind of relationships Bashir was looking for, make him loyal to me, I'd be able to mentor him, guide him—"

"Use and manipulate him," interjected Sisko, unable to help himself and barely able to contain his indignation. "That's pretty callous. Unethical, too."

Fischer bristled. "And what of it? Do you think the _Dominion_ cares about ethics? The Founders have created entire _species_ to do their dirty work for them. They've lied and cheated and kidnapped and killed to infiltrate the Federation. They don't play by Starfleet's rules. I said once before that we need to find new, innovative approaches to Intelligence. If we don't find them, if we don't fight dirty, we'll have lost this war before it has even begun."

"So," said Ross, "Julian Bashir is an innovative approach to intelligence?"

"He has unique skills and abilities that we can use. He's a tool!"

"The truth comes out at last!" ground out Sisko. He felt faintly sick.

"Bashir is a sentient being. He has rights," said Nechayev, but she sounded doubtful.

"He's an Augment. He's _nothing!_" argued Fischer, so impassioned that he was almost shouting. Beads of spit appeared and foamed at the corners of his mouth as he leaned forward and thumped the side of his fist against the coffee table. The mugs jumped and liquid splashed over their lips.

Sisko reared back in his seat to avoid the splatter zone and felt his fists clench.

Until now, Sisko had thought attitudes towards Julian fell between two polar opposites. At one pole were those people, like Garland, who hated, despised and feared Julian because of what he was and what he could do. At the other, there were people like O'Brien, Sisko and Joseph, who saw Julian as human despite what had been done to him and who supported wholeheartedly Julian's quest to live a "normal" life.

But Fischer... Fischer was different.

He had seen Julian's potential, and he hadn't feared it. But nor did he want Julian to be treated equally with the rest of humanity. To him, Julian was a commodity.

"Think of the resource," Fischer was saying. "Think what we could do with it, if it were channelled properly." He sneered. "Momoh and Bennett and all of those misguided fools would rather maintain the moral high ground than win the war."

"Better than losing our souls," said Sisko, "because, if we sink to the Dominion's level...to _your _level, Admiral...what are we fighting for?"

Nechayev sighed. "Would one single man—albeit an Augmented one—really make such a difference?"

"Thanks to the court case, we'll probably never know," said Fischer. He crossed his arms angrily over his chest.

The conversation petered into an uncomfortable and inconclusive silence. After several seconds, Fischer broke it by asking, "Are we done?"

"For now," said Nechayev.

Without another word, Fischer got to his feet.

Sisko looked at Ross and Nechayev and, in disbelief, asked, "Is that it? You're just going to let him go?"

When neither of the other admirals made a move to stop him, Fischer swept out of the room.

After long pause, Ross said tentatively, "Fischer has a point. Above anything else, we need to win the war. And wars breed dirty tricks, far more so than does the peace."

"You _condone_ what he's done?" asked Sisko incredulously.

"What he tried to do. He didn't succeed, so there's no harm done," said Ross.

Sisko thought about Julian and everything he'd been through, and he couldn't believe his ears! "No harm—! And you, Admiral Nechayev? Do you condone it, too?"

"Not condone, no. But I understand it. And I wonder...what else will we be forced to do before this war is over?"

"Before it's over? It hasn't even begun!"

"But it's coming," said Nechayev. "We all know that."

"You're going to let Fischer get away with it, aren't you?" said Sisko flatly as he looked from one admiral to the other and back again.

The admirals' silence was its own answer.

"Why?" asked Sisko bitterly. "Because Julian Bashir is—how did you put it before?" He looked directly at Ross. "Because he's just a Nip?"

Ross didn't deny Sisko's accusation.

"The end justifies the means, is that it?" asked Sisko, his bitterness growing.

"Not necessarily," said Ross. "Maybe Fischer went about things the wrong way, but the end he's looking for is one I can sympathise with."

-=o=-

Delon's mouth opened and closed, and finally he got some words out. "They're lying. All of them. Of course they're lying." But his bluster was feeble and lacked conviction.

"I'm _not lying!_" objected Sandrine. "I'm _confessing_. Listen to me! This is me confessing! I was there, and I know what happened, and, after all these years, I don't care about punishment or imprisonment or any of the rest of it! Because, in the last thirty years, the one thing I've learned is that there are worse prisons than jail!" She looked towards the security guards who had tried to stop her earlier, and she yelled, "Come and take me! I'm ready now! Call the police. Have them come and arrest me! I'm guilty and I want to confess!"

The panellists leaned in and began whispering among themselves. Then, finally, Henri Roget stood up. "I suggest we take a short break to consider what we need to do next."

Lynch nodded. "Yes. Yes. Of course. Shall we reconvene in..."

"Twenty minutes," said Roget. Then, turning towards the room, he made a louder and more formal announcement to that effect.

The panel huddled together some more, and then removed themselves from the chamber. The guards escorted Sandrine away.

A few people got up. Fewer still left the room. Most didn't know what to do, so they ended up discussing their confusion with their neighbours.

Julian sat in silence, letting the ramifications of Sandrine's revelation rattle around inside his head.

Could it be true?

It couldn't be true!

Could it?

Pierre Delon, outspoken opponent of genetic enhancement had once tried to enhance a child?

If that were true...

Julian felt his fists clench and unclench beneath the table as his anger rose.

This changed everything!

Everything Julian thought he'd known about Delon shattered and rearranged itself into a different whole, a retrospective rewriting of their shared past. Delon had practiced one thing and had preached another. He had broken the law. Sandrine had been right: Delon had broken professional standards, and in far more serious ways than Julian had ever done.

Julian hated him. Despised him. Felt betrayed by him.

Julian was a better man than Delon had ever been and could ever hope to be.

-=o=-

As he left Nechayev's office, Sisko's mouth was bitter with the aftertaste of his conversations. He was familiar enough with history to know that Ross was right. They would be forced to do things against their conscience before the war was done. But this? Before the war had even started?

Sisko thought back to the recording of events in the holosuite, and he wondered how much his new knowledge changed his interpretation of what had gone on then. Had the hatred of the Starfleet personnel been real, or had it been acting, designed to drive Julian into Fischer's arms? He didn't know. He wasn't sure that he wanted to know. They'd certainly made it seem real.

Either way, the actions of the Intelligence staff had been unfeeling, demonstrating a callous disregard for Julian's wellbeing. The prejudice might have been covert or overt, but it was there, either in the view that Julian was a pawn to be manipulated and coerced into doing their bidding or that he was a straightforward object of hate.

Where were the lines between real and fake hatred, between apathy and antipathy? Fischer could never have conceived of his plan had prejudice against the Augmented not existed in the first place. Fischer had taken the context of that prejudice and had tried to bend it to his own will.

Sisko felt the familiar burn of righteous anger, and it conflicted with a weariness at having to feel it yet again. At the same time, he felt disbelief that Fischer had thought that his plan could work.

Delon and Fischer were closely related. Did Fischer think that Julian would never have noticed? Did he think that nobody would have linked them? It all seemed so...sloppy!

And yet...

Fischer had read and absorbed Telnorri's report. He had understood Julian's points of vulnerability and he had exploited them. Julian had wanted to form deep social attachments... Julian had needed a better support network... Telnorri had spelled it all out. Fischer had sought to cut Julian's already weakened ties with friends and family, and he'd plotted to set himself up as saviour and mentor.

Fischer had used his position to manipulate things in the background. He'd encouraged Delon to investigate and discipline Julian. He'd exerted his influence over Medical, encouraging its personnel to take action, and he had called in favours to make sure that Julian was shunned and used and tested.

Sisko shivered. He wanted to believe that Fischer's plan had been ill conceived and that it could never have worked. Yet, there was an increasingly insistent niggle that wouldn't leave him alone, a voice that whispered darkly inside his head. The voice reminded him that he'd delayed checking up on Julian when he'd arrived on Earth, and it would have been easy enough for him not to have bothered. More than that, it was coincidence that he'd ended up on Earth at all. Julian could quite easily have never met Joseph, or Sisko might have never been in a position to rescue him...

Fischer's hadn't been an outrageous plan. It might have worked. Hell, it could easily have worked. Look how Julian had latched on to Joseph and Sisko! Julian could have been sucked into the secret world of espionage...and nobody would have noticed until it was far, far too late.

And Starfleet was going to let Fischer get away with it all!

-=o=-

"We—that is, the panel and I—have had a discussion," said Lynch, "and we have concluded that there is no need to prolong the appeal process. We will continue to hear Julian Bashir's testimony. However, Pierre Delon will have no further part in the proceedings." He gestured to where Delon, despite his no longer have any part to play, had resumed his seat. "I will share the role of chair with Henri Roget. We believe this to be an acceptable compromise, and we trust that there will be no objections to this approach."

Dinmont, Hessayon and Julian looked at each other, sharing seconds of silent communication. Where was Sisko? Events seemed to be spinning out of control, forking away from the path they'd planned to take in the appeal. But they all shrugged and nodded. Finally, Dinmont said, "We have no objections."

"Good," said Lynch briskly. "Then, if you—" he gestured at Julian "—would care to return to the witness table...?"

"Yes, sir," said Julian, rising to his feet.

Even after everything he'd seen and heard so far in the appeal, Julian still had no real idea whether what he had to say would make any difference. He could feel the eyes of the panel on him, and he could see the faces of the audience staring at him. A couple looked sympathetic, a few looked interested, but most looked inscrutable and some looked downright unfriendly.

Carefully, Julian began to speak. "You're all shocked because Monsieur Delon did something wrong. Wrongdoing in 'normal' humans is generally considered to be an aberration." Julian mimed quotation marks round the word normal. "You automatically expect the best of people like Monsieur Delon and are surprised when they don't live up to your expectations. But most people assume the worst of people like me. You—society in general—assume that malevolence is the norm for the genetically enhanced. None of you would have been surprised if I had done any of the things Delon has done because you assume that evil is programmed into my DNA."

Julian took a deep breath. He wanted his old life back. He wanted to be a doctor again. Presenting a reasonable, fair and rational argument hadn't worked for him before, and he wasn't sure that it could work now.

He thought of O'Brien.

He thought about faith.

He thought about justice and injustice and hypocrisy.

He glanced up at the stage, saw Pierre Delon, and he thought about Jack.

He thought about Patrick and Lauren and Sarina, and he decided that the best chance he had was to believe wholeheartedly in the positive outcome he wanted to achieve and to throw everything he had at the panel.

"As I said earlier, I have been prejudged by most people I've met. I understand why. For years I feared what might be inside me, and what, in an unguarded moment, I might do, or might become. If I hated what was done to me, if I hated what I am, if I hated _myself_, why should I expect anyone else to do any differently?"

As he spoke, everything he'd had to work through and everything he'd had to face in the last few weeks and months boiled up inside of him. He threw caution and calm aside and he spoke from the heart. "But I've learned to question all the assumptions I had about myself, and I want you to question your assumptions, too. You see, just as it is a mistake to assume all 'normal' humans are good, honest and upstanding, it is wrong to assume that all genetically enhanced people are not."

His words were fuelled by all the sorrow, hurt and anger that he'd been forced to feel. "I wasn't _designed_ to be evil! If the potential for evil lies within me, it lies within all of you, too. The question is, do you act upon it? Or do you resist? And, if you resist, why do you assume that I won't or that I can't? You assume that because I'm enhanced! But, remember, it was not I who killed my mother, even though the police assumed that I had, at least until it was proven otherwise. Nor was she killed by another genetically enhanced person."

His words took on an accusatory flavour. "I have heard that some among you would have been prepared to stop short of striking me off the medical register. So, now I have to ask, why didn't you? Did any of you stop to think what it meant to me to be a doctor?" Julian felt his eyes sting.

He took a deep breath, and when he was sure that he was in control of himself again, he said, "I wanted to be a doctor very much. I wanted to do something good...and I believed that I had something to offer. But I had to lie because I'd never have been allowed otherwise." He shook his head.

"We've heard what happened to Jacques Giradot. We've all been horrified by his story, and I think everyone in this room would agree that it should never have been allowed to happen. But, do you realise how very easily it could have happened to me, too? The law condemns enhancement almost as much as it vilifies those who have been enhanced...who never asked for it...who were never in any position to object to what was done to them!

"What today has shown us is that some people—some 'normal' humans—are tempted by what enhancement has to offer for themselves and for their children, and to hell with the consequences! Those people don't stop to think about the people who are...created by the end of the enhancement process. I'm not the same person I was before I was enhanced, and I've struggled for _years_ to understand what that means. How much of the being I was is left inside of the man I am now? I have been set apart from the rest of the human race by what was done to me, and I had no say in any of it! I didn't choose to be enhanced. Hell, if I hadn't been taken to Adigeon Prime, I couldn't have even told you want that meant! Nor could Jacques Giradot, or any of the others like us. And yet, we are punished for what others have done to us, everyday of our lives. We, the enhanced, are condemned for being different, and we are forced to do what we can to survive!"

Julian wanted to stand up. He wanted to pace and gesticulate and yell. It took all of his willpower to remain in his seat but, even then, he could feel his right leg jiggling up and down with nervous energy.

"Have you stopped to think what would have happened to me, had my parents declared my genetic status, as the law required? No? Best-case scenario, I'd be living on the edges of society, ostracised, marginalised and excluded, prevented by law from learning or doing anything worthwhile. What a waste! Because I believe that I have something to contribute, if only you allow me to!"

Julian caught his breath and forced himself into a state closer to calm. However, despite his best efforts, he couldn't disguise his bitterness as he looked up at, and gestured towards, the panel, and asked, "How much of an influence did Monsieur Delon have on you, either by the way he conducted the original hearing, or by what he might have said to you all in private? Did you stop to wonder why Monsieur Delon wanted me struck me off the medical register so badly? Did any of you think to ask? Did any of you care?"

"That's enough, Bashir!" shouted Delon.

When he'd been a student, Julian had thought that Delon had been moral and upstanding. Delon had been someone Julian had wanted to emulate and, in return for Julian's admiration, Delon had offered to mentor him. Delon had promised to steer Julian through the pitfalls that lay in wait for the unwary, newly qualified doctor.

More recently, Julian had considered Delon to be someone he needed to fear.

But now, all Julian could see was a hypocritical, two-faced, duplicitous _bastard_. Everything Delon had ever said to Julian had been a lie.

"No!" roared Julian, and now he did get to his feet. "It's nowhere _near_ enough! At least the panel has the excuse of ignorance. They didn't know me. But you—! You were my mentor. You were almost my father-in-law!"

"I said, that's enough!" countered Delon, getting to his feet.

Lynch also stood. He turned to Delon and said loudly and sternly, "Be silent, or I'll have you removed from this room. Let the witness speak!"

Even with Lynch's backing, Julian was tempted to back down, just for a fraction of a second. But then bravery and righteous indignation won out and he continued. "I admired you. I wanted to be like you. I wanted to be as good as you, both professionally and personally! And that counted for absolutely nothing!"

Sandrine had said that someone Delon had known had helped with the cover up. Julian was sure that someone had to have been Fischer, but Sandrine hadn't been able to verify that.

Julian had thought that confirming Fischer's involvement would be the missing piece of a jigsaw that would discredit Delon, once and for all. But maybe it didn't matter, because there was so much more to Delon's story than Julian could ever have imagined. Even without that final piece, the picture was obvious.

Julian's outrage grew, and with it the volume and speed with which he spoke. His whole body trembled with the intensity of his thoughts. His fists bunched, and his nostrils flared as he talked.

Still directing his comments at Delon, Julian shouted, "I was so frightened of what you'd think of me, if you ever found out... And, when you did, I thought you hated me because of what I am or because of what I had done. But that's not true, is it? You don't hate me because I'm genetically enhanced, or even because I walked out on you and your daughter when I got scared."

"No!" shouted Delon. "Make him stop!"

"Quiet!" commanded Roget. "You've been warned once already. We won't warn you again." He held up his hand. "I think we should hear Dr Bashir out."

Doctor. Julian heard the word, and it gave him hope.

Julian cried out, "Monsieur Delon hated me because of what I represent! The doctors who treated me knew what they were doing. I didn't suffer from any unfortunate side effects, not like Jacques Giradot! I am standing in front of you all as evidence that genetic engineering _can_ work. But Monsieur Delon tried and failed. _I represent his failure_!" Julian pointed at himself, head held high and defiant. He jabbed at his chest and shouted, "I wound his precious professional pride because _I'm a reminder of what he failed to do!_"

Julian's words echoed in the silence that followed.

Then Julian looked at the members of the panel, one by one. He sighed. "I don't know what's left for me to do or say. We already showed you my records and my psych profile. You know my research. We provided you with character references. What more can you possibly want from me? Why can't you, at the very least, give me the benefit of the doubt? Yes, I broke the law. It's not something that I'm proud of, but I hope you can understand why I did it, at least a little." He shook his head. "More than anything, I want to be a doctor again, but... Strike me off the register, if you honestly believe that's the right thing to do. Just, please, don't do it because Monsieur Delon wants you to."

Feeling limp and exhausted, Julian wilted as he sat down in the chair at the witness table.

Whatever was going to happen next, it was out of his hands now.

-=o=-

Sisko hurried. Even if the brass at Starfleet were going to make sure that Fischer couldn't be touched, at least Sisko now had evidence to implicate Delon in Fischer's plot to destroy Julian's career and support network. He just hoped that he wasn't too late. Sisko wished he knew how the appeal hearing was going. Was it over already? Or was there still a chance that his new information might help?

Sisko beamed to the old city hall, materialising close the bottom of the main steps. He pushed his way through the demonstrators, ran up to the front door, barged his way inside...and found dozens of people milling around aimlessly.

"What's going on?" he asked urgently, snagging a stranger's attention as he walked through the hallway.

"Besides drama and chaos?" the man answered, his eyes dancing with excitement. "The panel has withdrawn to consider its decision, and Pierre Delon'll be lucky to escape a jail sentence." He bustled off, leaving Sisko with more questions than he'd started with.

"What?" murmured Sisko to himself.

He had to find Julian.

-=o=-

Sisko tracked Julian, Dinmont and Hessayon down at the defence table. Lilienfeld and Loews were also there.

"What's happened?" Sisko asked. "Am I too late?"

"The panel withdrew about five minutes ago," said Hessayon. "So, whatever you've found out, it's too late for us to use it now."

"Damn," muttered Sisko.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry too much," said Hessayon. "I doubt we would have needed it. Not after Sandrine Giradot put in an appearance."

"What?" asked Sisko.

One overlapping and confusing set of explanations later, Sisko thought he'd got the gist of the story. "So, everything's going to be all right?" he asked.

"I don't know," said Julian. Then, rather bashfully, he said, "I...got angry...and I shouted."

"Don't mind him, Captain," said Lilienfeld. "Julian was quite...convincing."

"You think they'll give him back his licence?" said Sisko hopefully.

"Probably. Of course, the final decision isn't mine." Lilienfeld smiled. "But if there is one thing that the Board members dislike more than being lied to, it's being used. Besides, as a group, doctors tend to be quite a compassionate bunch. So...I think you have reason to be cautiously optimistic."

-=o=-

The chamber settled into an expectant silence, and Roget stood up. Delon was conspicuously absent, and Julian wondered whether he'd been thrown out, had made a tactical retreat of his own accord, or, along with Sandrine Giradot, he had been arrested.

Roget's voice carried in the quiet as he said, "In light of the evidence before us, we are minded to reduce the sanctions against Julian Bashir. While we do not condone his law breaking, we do understand that there were extenuating and mitigating circumstances. The panel has decided to reduce punishment from removal of Bashir's name from the list of licensed medical practitioners to censure. We will set out the full details of that censure in written communication. However, the key point is that, as of now, Dr Bashir is free to resume his practice."

It took a second or two for the import of Roget's words to sink in. Then Julian felt a huge explosion of relief in his gut. It spread though his body, manifesting as a huge grin and a feeling of almost dizzying light-headedness. After that, Julian was only dimly aware of Roget wrapping up the proceedings and making his arthritic way off the stage.

Roget walked over to Julian and held out his hand. "Congratulations, _Doctor_," he said.

Julian looked from Roget's hand to his face and back again. Then he took Roget's hand in both of his own and said, "Thank you! Thank you very much!"

"Don't thank me too soon. You understand, don't you, that you haven't been pardoned? You're being censured. There will still be some kind of punishment."

Julian nodded. "I understand." But, at that moment, he couldn't find it in himself to care. There was barely room in his enormous brain for more than the single thought that he was a doctor again.

He was a doctor!

"Having said that, and speaking for myself," said Roget, his words making their way through Julian's haze of euphoria, "I agree with you: striking you off the register would be a waste." Roget eased his hand out of Julian's enthusiastic grip, and walked away.

Julian turned towards Dinmont. She was smiling too, her eyes dancing. "We did it," she said, sounding incredulous. Only then did Julian fully appreciate how little hope Dinmont had had of a positive outcome. "Oh, come on," she said. "Give us a hug!" and the woman who'd never so much as touched him, let alone shaken his hand, pulled him into a tight embrace so warm and generous that he wanted to cry out with surprise. He gave himself over to the moment, and hugged her back.

A voice from behind him said, "Come on, let's be having some of that," and he found himself being handed over to Elizabeth Lilienfeld. Her embrace was equally enthusiastic, and he felt as though he could have burst with happiness. "We couldn't have done it without you," he said.

Lilienfeld made a strange, dismissive noise that sounded something like, "Pffft." Then she said, "I couldn't have done anything without your Dr Loews or Patrick, and we've also got to thank Sandrine Giradot. I don't think anyone could have predicted her part in any of this. Plus, your speech undoubtedly had an impact, too."

Julian nodded into her neck before they let go of each other. He glanced at Sisko, who was trying to look as happy as everyone else, but whose eyes were carrying an emotion that seemed to be at odds with the moment. Julian felt his smile falter momentarily. Then he recovered himself and said, "Can we go home now?"

-=o=-

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

Only three more chapters to go... Yes, this monster of a story really does have an end!

Thank you as ever for every review, reader, view, favouriter and follower! You all continue to make me very happy.

**NEXT WEEK:** Julian finally finds out what Fischer has been up to...


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter Thirty-two**

By the time Julian and Sisko got back to the restaurant, Julian's grin had faded from supernova to merely stellar, and his euphoria had settled down into a warm ball that nestled somewhere in the middle of his chest. He was happier than he'd been in a long, long time—happier even than he'd been when he'd heard about Judge Momoh's ruling.

Mostly what he'd felt then had been relief at being spared from having to do something that he didn't want to do. This though... Today's decision had returned meaning and purpose to his life.

Beside him, Sisko was doing his best to share in Julian's happiness, but something about the heaviness of his step, the lines around his eyes, and the angle of his shoulders told Julian that something wasn't quite right.

The realisation bruised Julian's mood, and he resolved that, if Sisko didn't volunteer any information in the next ten minutes or so, he would ask what was going on. Actually, given his innate impatience, maybe he'd only wait five minutes before asking.

Yes. Five minutes. Tops.

Sisko held the back door open and waved Julian into the kitchen, where his arrival prompted everyone present—which seemed to be nearly everybody possible—to drop whatever they were doing and gather around.

"Well?" demanded Joseph. Then he said, "You're smiling, so I take it that everything worked out?"

"Yes," said Julian, and his grin reignited.

"Everyone," said Sisko, "I'd like to introduce _Dr_ Julian Bashir!"

The applause that followed Sisko's announcement was spontaneous and sincere, and Julian felt giddy, delighted and embarrassed, all at the same time. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you all very much." He wanted to say more, but he couldn't find the words.

Nathan came over, punched him lightly on the arm, and said, "I suppose I'm going to have to find some other poor devil to train up, then."

"Yes," agreed Julian. "But not for another few days, at least."

Joseph pushed Nathan out of the way and gave Julian a quick, congratulatory hug, while Jonas, Felicia, Grant and Tina shouted overlapping messages of approval. Then they all began to pepper Julian with questions about the hearing, which he did his best to answer.

Finally, though, Joseph clapped his hands and said, "Back to work, everyone," and the crowd scattered, leaving Sisko and Julian as alone as they could be with a handful of other people working and milling around them.

Then Sisko quietly said, "Come with me. There's something I need to tell you."

-=o=-

They went upstairs to the bedroom, as far from listening ears and distractions as they could get. Sisko walked towards the window and then turned around to look at Julian.

Julian drew no comfort from Sisko's reluctance to speak, and he felt the happiness slipping from his face. "I can tell that something's wrong," he said. "What is it?"

Sisko wiped a hand over his forehead and pate. "I don't want to ruin your day, but..." He sighed. "Maybe we should sit down," he said and he moved to sit on his bed.

Julian stared. Sisko's behaviour was doing nothing to reassure him, and he could feel cold trepidation displacing the warm glow in his chest. Reluctantly, he sat down on his own bed so that he and Sisko were facing each other.

"What I'm about to say..." Sisko began. "You're not going to like it. But you need to know."

"Go on," said Julian carefully, and then he listened as Sisko proceeded to tell him about McCauley, about the reason why Nechayev had summoned him to her office, and about the data chip and what it contained.

Finally, Sisko said, "In the court hearing, both Fischer and Roughsedge lied under oath."

"They did? When?" asked Julian.

"When they talked about the purpose of the holoprogramme. They said that it was designed to test your reactions and behaviours."

"Wasn't it?" The chill in his chest was spreading, and Julian could feel a frown beginning to carve itself into his forehead.

Sisko shook his head, no. "You said yourself that you didn't know what they were trying to do, only that something went wrong."

Julian nodded.

"Well, it turns out that several things went wrong, not just you having unpredictable reactions to the drug and almost dying."

Julian braced his hands on his knees as he leaned forwards, curious and uneasy.

"Did you ever read the report Telnorri wrote about you?" asked Sisko.

"Yes," said Julian. He wondered about Sisko's apparent change in topic and made his answer sound like a question. Telnorri's report hadn't made for comfortable reading, and he'd wondered at the way the counsellor had seen him. He'd always tried to project an image of self-reliance and confidence. That Telnorri had seen through his façade and had stripped him bare...

"Fischer also read it, and he decided that he could make use Telnorri's findings," said Sisko.

"How?"

"Telnorri suggested that you were isolated—almost friendless. That you needed a better support network."

Julian nodded uncomfortably. "He caught me at a difficult time. I was just back from the Gamma Quadrant, and that made things seem worse than they might have otherwise."

"Oh?"

"Nobody noticed the substitution." Julian looked down at his hands. While he'd been on Earth, he'd neglected his nails and had allowed them to grow slightly longer than usual. He would have to trim them before he returned to doing surgery...

"Ah," said Sisko, loading a wealth of understanding into that single syllable. "Fischer reasoned that, if he could befriend you...could get you to trust him...then you would willingly follow him into Intelligence, especially if no other options were available to you. He knew what Roughsedge was up to. He planned it all."

"So, what went wrong?" Julian asked, but he figured out the answer before he finished asking the question. "You..." he breathed. "You and Karen Loews..."

Sisko nodded. "Fischer planned to 'rescue' you himself. It was even in his diary: 'Meet Roughsedge, JB rescue'. The entry also gave the location and a time."

Julian's heart thumped against his ribs, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and his palms were suddenly clammy. "They planned it all? The overdose? The assaults? _Everything?_ It was all premeditated, so that Fischer had something to rescue me from?" He looked at Sisko, not wanting to believe it, and wordlessly imploring Sisko to tell him that he'd got it all wrong.

But instead of correcting him, Sisko agreed. "Yes. But we beat him to it. And, just so you know, the only thing premeditated about that was that I was looking for you so that I could invite you to try some of my father's food. We brought you here."

"Where you and Joseph and everyone else gave me all the support I could ever want or need," said Julian quietly, feeling his way through his new understanding. "Fischer must have been furious!" His eyes widened as a thought crossed his mind. "The riot... Did Fischer...?"

"Yes. He helped to orchestrate that, too. Fischer planted some of his people in among the protestors and then had them...suggest...coming to New Orleans. Although, from what I can tell, the protestors didn't need much persuading."

"Oh..." sighed Julian, dismayed.

"Fischer's first attempt to 'rescue' you hadn't worked, so he had to improvise. He thought that all he would need to do was to isolate you from everyone and everything, then befriend you. You would have been so grateful that you'd have done anything for him: joined Intelligence...anything. He thought that the riot would be enough to make us throw you out, or it would make you want to run away."

Julian wanted to believe that he wouldn't have been that easy to manipulate, but he remembered how he had almost left the restaurant. He would have done, too, had Joseph not caught him packing and insisted that he stayed.

Sisko said, "At the time, I thought it was a happy coincidence that you weren't here that day, but now I suspect the timing was deliberate. We know that Fischer had you under surveillance, and, although the riot was designed to be psychologically damaging, you were out of the way of any kind of physical harm."

"Was the riot in Fischer's diary, too?" asked Julian flatly.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry."

"You," said Sisko firmly, "have absolutely nothing to apologise for. I won't have you feeling guilty for something that was someone else's fault entirely."

Although Sisko had a point, Julian couldn't help but feel at least a little responsible. His guilt was an old and ingrained response, and one he needed to let go of.

"Is there anything else I should know?" Julian asked.

"We guessed right about Fischer and Delon. Fischer's diary and messages show that they met several times, and Fischer definitely tried to influence him. We found other correspondence, too. Fischer called in a lot of favours to make sure nobody else tried to recruit you."

Julian felt sick. He forced himself to ask, "What's going to happen to Fischer now?"

Sisko looked at him and, when he didn't reply immediately, Julian filled in the answer for himself. "He's going to be allowed to get away with it, isn't he." It wasn't a question, but Sisko answered anyway.

"Yes."

They sat in silence for a while, then Sisko reached into his pocket and pulled out the data chip, which, in a moment of confusion, he'd managed to rescue from Nechayev's computer. He held it out and said, "It's all on here, if you want to see for yourself."

"I'm not sure that I do."

Sisko didn't move. Instead he waited while Julian stared at the chip for several seconds. Then Julian slowly reached out and took it from Sisko's hand.

Julian looked at the data chip as it lay in his palm, and then he curled his fingers around it. His fist tightened, and Julian felt the sharp, plastic corners cut into his skin. He determinedly loosened his hold.

Maybe he'd look at what was on it. Maybe he wouldn't.

-=o=-

Julian served and cleared, took orders and smiled, and sometimes he grinned as he remembered that he was a doctor once more. But his thoughts kept returning to Sisko's revelations and the data chip, and every time that happened, his smile dimmed just a little bit more.

Julian kept putting his hand into his pocket so that he could touch and turn the chip with his fingertips. He didn't want to look at what it contained. Or maybe he did. Every time he thought that he'd made a decision one way or the other, he would find himself changing his mind again, only seconds later.

Why wasn't it enough that Sisko had told him what he'd found out? Why couldn't Julian just leave things alone? Did he really have to see all the evidence first hand?

Julian didn't want to look at the concrete proof of what Fischer had done, but he knew that he was going to, just as Sisko had known that he would, when he'd passed the chip into Julian's care.

Thus, after the restaurant had closed for the evening, Julian made his excuses, and, once again, he borrowed Joseph's computer terminal.

-=o=-

Julian was still wading his way through the morass of information when Sisko put his head around the door. "I'm going up now. Don't be too long."

Julian didn't look around as he said, "I won't."

"Night, then."

"H'm..." said Julian, barely registering Sisko's words.

He continued to plough through the files, committing every last detail to memory. It was all there, every distasteful fact, every uncomfortable reality. Fischer had carefully recorded every aspect of his manipulations.

Reading it all left Julian feeling dirty and violated, hurt and angry.

-=o=-

There was something there. Something hidden. Something that tickled at the back of Julian's mind and that demanded his attention. He found himself reminded of how it felt to catch a glimpse of movement out of the corner of an eye, only to turn and find nothing there. But, even though there was nothing to see, he couldn't ignore the phantom movement, which refused to be dismissed.

Then he remembered something from his childhood...something that still, occasionally, haunted his dreams.

He remembered his room in the hospital on Adigeon Prime. He remembered the invasive, old-fashioned procedures that used needles and tubes and injections. He remembered the probes and the pain. But, most of all, he remembered the terror.

Back when his genetic status had first been revealed, Julian had told Miles a little about Adigeon Prime. Julian had told him how, when he'd first arrived on the planet, he'd been excited to see all the aliens. But he'd avoided telling Miles about how he'd felt about the rest of it, preferring to describe only the barest facts of what had happened and what had been done to him. He had refrained from telling Miles anything about how frightened he had been and he had neglected to mention how he had been unable to understand what was happening to him, or why.

Back then, all Julian had known was that the treatments hurt like hell and that they made him scream so much that his throat ached, because how could rebuilding someone from the inside out be anything other than agonising? On top of that, he had been terrified because he could feel himself changing, and he had never known, from one day to the next, who he was going to be when he woke up. At the time, he could never have found the words, but he remembered the feelings. He'd felt adrift, unable to hold on to who he was, and the only anchor he'd had in his shifting reality was Kukalaka.

There had been so much hurt, so much pain...agony...fear, and almost lost amongst everything else, he'd been scared of the monsters under his bed. They only came out at night, when he was loneliest, and when the dark was at its most impenetrable. But, when he'd tried to tell his parents about them, they'd told him to be a big boy and that the monsters only existed in his imagination. He'd tried to tell the doctors and the nurses, too, but they hadn't been interested in the fears of a small, human boy.

Thus, night after night, he'd wrapped himself into a tight little ball, crushed Kukalaka to his chest, and pulled the blankets in close. He had lain in bed whimpering quietly, because he'd learned the hard way that, if he called out, nobody came. If he was lucky, he'd fall asleep and he'd wake up to daylight, and the monsters would be gone.

All these years later, he could remember how the bedding had felt as he'd clenched it tightly in his little fists, and how, in the morning, his hands had ached and cramped, and how much it had hurt to straighten out his fingers.

Eventually, the rate of change to his IQ began to slow and the physical enhancements began to take hold. He was able to think more clearly than he had ever done before, and he had gathered up the courage to look under the bed. There had been nothing there. But he could still hear and feel the monsters, and once he'd started looking for them, he hadn't been able to stop.

Then, one day, when he was smarter and faster than he'd ever been, he had forced himself to move more quickly than he'd ever done before, and he'd spotted them.

The monsters under the bed were real, albeit quite a bit smaller than he'd pictured. They'd watched and sniggered and waved their many eyestalks at him, and they'd finally left him alone after he'd pointed at them and sniggered back.

Julian had learned from the encounter. He'd learned not to believe everything that his parents told him, and he'd learned not to dismiss his fears as groundless.

Now, just as it had in that long ago hospital room, Julian's intuition was telling him that there was something here. The question was, did he dare to be as fast and as smart as he could be, and to catch it before it hid from view?

Despite everything that had happened, and despite the distance that Julian had travelled towards accepting the reality of what he was, there was still something that he had avoided addressing. Maybe now was as good a time as any to take the last step.

Julian needed to use his enhancements to their fullest extent, not just in test conditions, or playing alone and in secret, but for real. He needed to embrace his abilities, not avoid them or hide them from other people. He needed to accept them and use them.

-=o=-

The computer screen was full of dancing symbols. They moved so fast that their movements appeared random. But Julian knew better. There was a pattern hidden in the chaos, if only he could find it. He needed to see the individual symbols, not the ever-shifting blur. He needed to pick out the algorithms. He needed to find the key...

Julian closed his eyes and drew on the same meditation techniques he used when playing with the Altonian brainteaser. He concentrated. He calmed and centred himself, and then he opened his eyes again. He blotted out his surroundings until only the screen remained.

The symbols surrounded him. He was in the data. His universe consisted solely of numbers and letters and alien alphabets and symbols. They surrounded him, and he picked his way through the chaos. He created order in the chaos...

-=o=-

The sky was beginning to lighten in the pre-dawn when Julian re-emerged from his trance. The secrets of Fischer's hidden files lay open before him. Julian was tired. He was restless. He was...

He wasn't sure what he was. He was beyond outrage, beyond shock. He had thought that Fischer had already done so much to him that nothing would have the power to surprise him any more. He had been wrong.

He was a doctor again. He should have been happy because that was what he'd wanted most in the universe...wasn't it? But the satisfaction and happiness he had felt on hearing that his appeal had been upheld had been offset by what he'd discovered since. The conversation he'd had with Sisko had helped him to realise how insignificant he was in the grand scheme of things, how easily he'd been used, and by how many people. Admiral Fischer had only been the latest in a long line of manipulators...

Shiva Ghazi had used him to advance his political ambitions. The JAG office had used him as an experiment to test public opinion. And Fischer had tried to manipulate him, to mould him into a valuable, but ultimately expendable, tool. They'd all discounted him as an individual with thoughts, feelings and rights, which was paradoxical as they'd all seen in him something of value, something to be exploited.

Of all the manipulations, Fischer's hurt the most. The JAG and Ghazi had used what he was to further their own ends. It had been about the stereotypical Augment, not about him.

But Fischer... Fischer had used Julian's own doubts and weaknesses and vulnerabilities against him. Unlike the others, he had seen Julian as an individual, and Fischer had played him, not because he was worthless, not because he was somehow less than everyone else, but because his enhancements somehow made him more. Fischer had seen strengths to be exploited and had planned and manipulated with a total disregard to Julian's feelings. Fischer had made use of the laws that judged Julian's worth as a human being as zero and had exploited society's fears of the genetically enhanced.

After yesterday's victory, Julian should have been riding on a wave of ecstasy but, on top of everything else, Fischer had even robbed him of that.

Julian felt used and dirty. And furious. And his fury felt good. It burned within him, giving him power and confidence, and it gave him the strength to question his own assumptions about how his place in the world compared to everyone else's.

Julian's parents had broken the law to have him enhanced. Julian had broken the law to find a purpose in life. Fischer had exploited the law...

Julian remembered what Hessayon had told him years ago. He'd tried to make Julian understand that the law wasn't set in stone, that it could change, and that it was something that should be questioned and challenged. Hessayon had even told him that every challenge it faced made the law that much stronger, because either the law would withstand the challenge, or it would be changed to something better.

Despite his performance in his Medical Law and Ethics class, Julian had never really understood the lessons until now.

Back then, Hessayon had asked Julian why he thought enhancement was wrong. _"Because the law says so? Then change the law. You have to find justifications to do just that, and you have to present your arguments in such a way that you will bring people around to your way of thinking."_

Now, after years of struggle, he was finally coming to accept that the law was unjust. For too long, he had felt guilty about his existence, and he'd felt ashamed. But now he was beginning to believe that the fault lay not inside him, but in how society perceived him, and people like him.

The irony was that Julian had always thought of himself as worthless, because of what had been done to him. But Fischer had schemed and manipulated, and Julian couldn't help but think, if that was how much value Fischer had set on him and his kind, then maybe he wasn't so worthless after all. Had Fischer left well alone, Julian might have been forced to go to Intelligence. However, Fischer's actions, and the actions of his staff, had made him want to fight.

He was done apologising for what he was. Nature had never intended him to be a genius, but he was. That was a fact, more immutable than any law. He was done with bending to fit in. He needed to make the law and society accept him as he was because only when that happened would he be truly safe.

He had stood up and defended himself but that, on its own, wasn't enough. He needed to fight, not just to be allowed to be a doctor, or to be allowed to live on the edges of society. He needed to fight to have his right to be part of the human race recognised and to be allowed to be a part of Federation society.

He needed to be accepted. So did Lauren, Patrick, Jack and Sarina, and all the faceless thousands who'd been enhanced and who lived in hiding and fear, just as he had done.

He was no longer prepared to settle for being merely tolerated. He deserved better than that. He deserved something more. They all did.

Fischer and Bennett and Ghazi had shown him that, every bit as much as Judge Momoh or Professor Hessayon or Elizabeth Lilienfeld, or each and every person who'd helped him thus far. His supporters had encouraged him and had given him the strength to fight, but his opponents were the ones who were firing him on.

Decision made.

He was going to take Hessayon up on his offer, and together they would take on the establishment, one vindictive law at a time.

Julian was going to fight.

And Admiral Fischer and his ilk... Well, they could all just go to hell.

-=o=-

Sisko woke up as the morning light began to creep into the bedroom. He rolled over, yawned, stretched, opened his eyes, and saw that Julian's bed hadn't been slept in. He frowned as he got up, flung on a dressing gown over his sleep attire, and padded barefoot down the stairs.

Julian was sitting in much the same position as he had been the previous night, leaning forwards in his seat, his eyes riveted on the computer screen. The difference this time was that Julian reacted to Sisko's presence and turned around to greet him.

There was a deep line carved between Julian's brows, and the skin beneath his eyes look puffy and bruised. His cheeks and chin were dark with stubble.

"I found something," said Julian sombrely. "I'm not sure what to do about it."

"What did you find?"

"A secret folder."

"On the data chip?" asked Sisko, astonished. "We didn't see anything."

Julian shrugged slightly. "It was hidden. I don't think anyone was meant to notice it."

Sisko stared at him.

"I only noticed because of the resequencing."

Sisko raised his eyebrows, not so much at what Julian was telling him as how. From the casual, almost blasé, way Julian had referred to the enhancements, Sisko knew that something had shifted within him at long last.

Julian misinterpreted Sisko's surprise and expanded on his explanation. "Parts of my brain work a little differently to other people's."

Sisko nodded and waved the explanation away. "What was in the folder?"

"A list. And files about a number of people."

Sisko's eyes narrowed. "What kind of people?"

Julian took a deep breath and straightened in the chair. "People that Admiral Fischer suspects are like me. Only, if they are enhanced, they're still hiding it, just like I did. Here. Take a look."

Sisko leaned over Julian's shoulder so that he could see the screen.

"See here?" said Julian, pointing. "Fischer has divided up his list of people into three groups: almost certainly enhanced; probably enhanced; possibly enhanced."

"Wait..." said Sisko, catching a glimpse of a familiar name in the list of possibles. "Serkan _Yilmaz_?"

Julian nodded. "Adalet Yilmaz's brother. Fischer notes that Yilmaz's intelligence might indicate that he has been enhanced, but he hasn't been able to find any corroborating evidence."

Sisko bit and chewed on his lower lip. Everything that he had seen since Julian had been outed made him fear that even the merest hint of a suggestion that someone was enhanced could be enough to ruin their career.

Julian must have been thinking along the same lines because he said, "I wouldn't put it past Admiral Fischer to try to threaten any of these people—or their families—with unsubstantiated rumours, proof be damned. That must have been what happened with Adalet Yilmaz during the trial."

Sisko grunted an agreement. "It would certainly explain the arguments and the tensions we saw among the defence team."

Julian nodded.

"If all these people are in hiding," said Sisko, "what makes Fischer suspect them?"

"Do you remember, back on Deep Space Nine, I said I thought that one of the reasons I'd been summoned back to Earth was that Medical wanted to find out how I'd managed to join Starfleet without being detected?"

Sisko nodded.

"It wasn't just Starfleet Medical that wanted to know. Fischer wanted to know, too. And this is why." Julian tapped the computer screen with his right index finger. "He wants a whole section of genetically enhanced operatives."

Quietly, Sisko murmured to himself, "An innovative approach to intelligence... A work in progress that he wanted to remain classified..."

Of course, Julian heard him. Julian raised his eyebrows, and said, "Sir?"

"Something Fischer said in one of our meetings. Go on."

"You remember us wondering why Fischer wanted to put together a petition of his own?"

"Yes," said Sisko, curious where Julian was going with this. "We wondered why he'd be prepared to risk losing you to Intelligence, just to have you subjected to the full force of the employment laws. So?"

"I think it was...insurance. I think he thought that, if he couldn't get me transferred to Intelligence, then he would still be able to make sure that I was ground down as low as possible. That way, it would serve as a warning to all the other genetically enhanced people he was hoping to recruit."

Julian raked his right hand through his hair, leaving it mussed and tousled. Then he continued, saying, "From what I can gather, Fischer has used a variety of information sources to identify possible suspects. He's collected intelligence from several non-aligned worlds, including Adigeon Prime." He grimaced. "Adigeon Prime's data protection controls aren't the best. Even if the medical records don't have names attached, it might still be possible to identify individuals. Fischer has matched age, sex and physical attributes to Starfleet's records, particularly those of personnel whose performance exceeds expected norms. I don't know how accurate his conclusions are, but..."

Julian stood up and wandered over to the window. He looked outside for a few seconds. Then he turned around, leaned against the sill, and looked back at Sisko. Sombrely, he said, "I would have been just the start. And these people..." He gestured towards the computer. "Fischer has a hold over them that he doesn't have over me."

Sisko considered what Julian had said. "He knows about them...and their status isn't public knowledge like yours is... You think he'll force them to work for him?"

"Don't you?"

Sisko found himself nodding. From what he'd seen of Fischer, it was all too easy to believe that the Admiral would practice coercion, if it suited him. Then he said carefully, "Julian... Before you were outed... What would you have done, if Fischer had come to you?"

"I...I don't know. It wouldn't have just been me that he could have threatened. It would have been my parents, too. And, despite all our differences, we never stopped trying to protect the secret and each other." Julian shook his head and scuffed the ball of his foot against the floor. "I'd like to think I would have stood up to him. To have come clean. But..."

Julian pushed himself upright and wandered back across the room. He rested one of his hands on the back of the desk-chair. "I want to protect these people. Fischer has to be stopped."

"But Starfleet is going to let him get away with everything."

"So it would seem," said Julian, and Sisko could tell that Julian was doing his best to squash down the bitterness he felt. "But there has to be something we—I—can do. I just need to figure out what."

-=o=-

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

As always...thank you. By this time, you all know the drill, so I'm not going to say anything more than that for now.

**Next week: **Julian has an unexpected visitor and he goes looking for..."something".


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter Thirty-three**

The following morning found Julian still brooding over what he'd come to think of as "The Fischer Problem". As he sliced and diced his way through a mountain of vegetables, he couldn't help thinking that just fighting for the rights of the genetically enhanced wasn't enough. Julian also wanted to make Fischer pay for what he had done in the past and to prevent him from carrying out whatever he had planned for the future. However, with the might of Starfleet protecting him, the admiral seemed untouchable.

Julian was particularly worried about the individuals Fischer wanted to recruit. He knew how difficult he had found it to cope when his secret had been accidentally exposed, and he wouldn't wish the same thing on anyone else. He was sure that no good could possibly come from forcing other people to face the kinds problems he'd had to deal with. So... How could he safeguard the wellbeing of the recruits and keep their secrets safe?

Just as he was putting a bowl of freshly prepared carrots in the refrigerator and thinking that there had to be a way, if only he could find it, there was a knock at the front door.

"Could someone else get that?" asked Joseph, looking up from the crab he was dressing.

Julian glanced around. Nathan was up to his wrists in okra, so he said, "I'll go." He closed the refrigerator door, and then he jogged out of the kitchen and across the dining area.

He peered through the windowpanes and felt his jaw drop in surprise when he saw who their visitor was. He quickly unlocked and opened the door, and said incredulously, "Palis! What are you doing here?"

"I..." Palis stumbled over the words, but she finally managed to say, "I'm not really sure." Then, after a second or two, and with a little more bite, she said, "Well? Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"What? Oh! Sorry! Come in!" He stepped back, pulling the door with him, so that she could pass.

Joseph's voice carried out from the kitchen. "Julian? Who is it?"

"It's no-one. I mean, she's an old friend...acquaintance." Julian's flustered answer must have piqued Joseph's curiosity because he appeared, still holding the hammer he'd been using to crack open the crab's claws. Nathan peered through the hatch.

Julian suppressed a sigh and remembered his manners. "Joseph, Nathan. This is Palis Delon. Palis, Joseph, Nathan." He gestured towards each in turn.

Joseph's eyebrows rose as he recognised the name. Then his instinctive hospitality kicked in. He waved the hammer around as he beckoned, and he said, "Come in. Come in! Sit down, and I'll find you something to drink. Tea? Coffee? Something cool?"

Palis shook her head. "Nothing for me, thank you. I just want to...talk...to Julian."

Joseph glanced between Palis and Julian, and sounded doubtful as he said, "If you're sure... In that case, I'll get back to my work." Then, looking at Julian, he added meaningfully, "Call me, if you need anything."

Julian nodded gratefully. "I will." He turned back to Palis and said, "This way."

He led her onto the patio, carefully selected a bistro table that was in full view of the kitchen, and invited her to take a seat. She moved to sit, hesitated, straightened up again, rethought the matter, and then finally landed on the edge of a chair.

Julian sat opposite her, determinedly making himself appear far more relaxed than he felt. Why was she here? Hadn't she said more than enough the last time they'd talked?

"You...suggested...that there was something wrong with me," Julian reminded her quietly.

"I know. And I can't help thinking that way. But then I think of Papa, and what he tried to do. And I..." She wrung her hands together. "Do you have any idea how it feels to find out that everything you have been taught, everything you thought you knew, was a lie? Because that's how I feel. Papa always told me that genetic engineering was wrong, and now I find out that he...he... Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Palis, of course I know how that feels! How do you think _I _felt when my parents sat me down and told me what they'd had done to me? How do you think I felt when I realised what that _meant_?"

"I...I didn't think of that," said Palis. "I suppose that makes my own little epiphany seem very trivial to you."

Julian sighed wearily. "I didn't mean it like that," he lied, clamping down on his irritation. "I just meant, I do understand. That's all."

Palis seemed to take Julian's words at face value. "If Papa lied," she said, "then maybe I was wrong. About you. About a lot of things. When I heard what you and Sandrine Giradot had to say at the appeal, I didn't know what to think. I still don't. Then, today, I decided that I needed to get away from Papa and the apartment and, somehow, I ended up here." She stood up, took a few steps and looked out onto the street, where life was carrying on, heedless of the conundrums in their tiny lives. "I don't know whether to hate him or love him, or love him despite the fact that I hate what he has done."

For a brief moment, Julian wanted to go to her, to rest his hands on her shoulders, turn her around, and let her bury her face into his neck. He thought about how her body would feel against his, and all the ways in which he could comfort her. It would be just like the old days.

He didn't move. Instead, he waited for her to recover herself and get to the point of her visit.

Finally, Palis returned to the table and sat down. In a small voice, she said, "I don't know what to do."

Julian frowned. "Is that why you're here? To ask my advice? Because, if so—"

"No. No! That would be..." She shrugged, and Julian tried to guess the unspoken words. Weird? Inappropriate? Insensitive?

Palis shook her head. "I suppose I came here because I'm looking for answers. I thought, if I talked to you, I might understand. Or I might be able to come to terms with not understanding. Do you see?"

Julian nodded, thinking that perhaps he did, at least a little.

"I talked to Augustine," Palis said. "After the ruling. It was...awkward."

"Oh?" said Julian blandly, not sure where Palis was going with this.

"We're... I don't know... We were friends. But now she has found out that Papa destroyed her family and I don't know whether she'll ever be able to forgive that. She made me think, and I..." Palis looked at Julian. "Jacques... That could have been you."

Julian said, "Yes," and didn't bother to caveat his answer with any of the uncertainties that Loews had raised in her evidence.

"If Papa had cured Jacques, like you were cured, wouldn't that have been a good thing?"

Julian felt his cheeks warm. "That supposes that either of us needed to be 'cured' in the first place."

Palis frowned. "Are you saying that you'd rather have been left as you were?"

Julian didn't reply, mostly because he didn't know what the answer was. Instead, he skirted around the question, and said, "All I ever wanted was to be accepted...loved. But there are very few people who've ever loved me for me, either as I was, or as I am now."

"I see. I didn't, did I?"

"No," said Julian, and, as soon as the word left his mouth, he wished he could have been tactful enough to remain silent.

Palis looked as uncomfortable as Julian felt. "I guess I deserve that." Then, after a long pause, she said, "What are you going to do now? Go back to that space station of yours?"

"Probably. Possibly. I don't know." Julian looked down at his hands. "I haven't quite made my mind up."

"Well, at least you have choices," she said. "You know Papa was arrested, don't you?"

Julian shook his head. The news didn't really surprise him, but no, he hadn't known. He'd been too wrapped up in thinking about Fischer and his own affairs to pay much attention to anything else.

"He has already been charged with illegal genetic engineering and fraud, and he might be charged with murder, too. The police are letting him stay in the apartment at the moment. House arrest, they call it. But there will be a trial, and he will almost certainly end up in prison."

"I'm sorry," said Julian. His words were both inadequate and inaccurate. He sympathised with the pain Palis was feeling, but part of him couldn't help thinking that Delon would deserve whatever the justice system chose to throw at him.

"The police exhumed Jacques Giradot's grave," said Palis.

Julian considered what Palis had said and put the pieces of her story together. "They found a clone then? A whole clone?"

Palis nodded miserably and gave an audible sniff. "If Papa is charged with its murder..."

"His," corrected Julian automatically.

"What?" asked Palis.

"The clone. He was a he, not an it."

"Oh..." Palis reached out and helped herself to one of Joseph's napkins. She used it to dab at her eyes and then she began to worry the fabric, rolling it between her fingers and picking at its hem. "Papa didn't murder it...him," she said.

"Did he tell you that?" asked Julian. "Or are you just hoping that it's true?"

Palis glared, narrow-eyed, at Julian. "Of course I hope it's true!" she snapped. Then, in a more conciliatory tone, she said, "But he told me, too. Last night. He told me that he couldn't bear to have me believe that he was capable of doing something so awful."

Julian felt his lips tighten. Assuming he had told her the truth, why had Delon thought it acceptable to re-engineer a human being when he considered killing that human's clone to be beyond the pale? Both things were crimes. So, where did he draw the line between conceivable and inconceivable wrongdoing?

"He said I had to know," said Palis. "He wanted me to understand."

She stopped. Then, after a few seconds, she continued her disjointed narrative. "You were wrong, you know. Not completely wrong, but not quite right, either."

"About what?"

"About Papa. About him hating you because you reminded him of his failure. That's true as far as it goes. But that's not why he did...what he did."

"What are you talking about?" asked Julian.

"I'm talking about how and why he worked so hard to get you struck off."

Julian stilled. His breath bated, he waited for Palis to continue.

"He did it for me." She looked at Julian, her eyes wide and beseeching, wanting to him to understand and, possibly, to forgive.

"I... What?"

"He did it to protect me."

Julian shaped his next words tentatively. Carefully. Quietly. "Did Admiral Fischer say something? Do something?"

Palis flinched slightly and blinked. "How did you...? You _knew_?"

"Of course not," said Julian. "I guessed. But given what I know about Fischer, it seemed likely."

"Papa told me last night. He was warning me. He said that I needed to be careful. He doesn't like Fischer very much."

"But they're cousins," said Julian, fishing for more details. "I thought they were close."

"You can be close to someone without liking them," said Palis with a dismissive snort.

"Can you?" asked Julian, but then he answered his own question. Yes, of course you could, and that explained so much about his relationship with his parents. It might even explain why he was sitting and talking with Palis now.

"You know the saying: blood is thicker than water," Palis said. "They're family, and families stick together, even when they hate each other."

Julian's lips twitched. "I've been getting a crash course in families recently." He tilted his head to one side, and then asked, "What did Fischer do?"

"He told Papa that, if you didn't lose your licence, he'd see to it that I never danced again. And now that you've got your licence back, Papa is worried about what Fischer might do. Papa thinks that Fischer will be...more reasonable...if he takes the blame for the clone and its—_his_—murder."

More to himself than to her, Julian murmured, "Fischer created and killed the clone..." as he tried to figure out what that really meant.

"Yes," said Palis. "But Papa won't tell the prosecutors or the police because he's scared of what Fischer will do...to me."

"If Fischer's sensible, he won't do anything," said Julian, but he could hear the doubt in his own voice, and he knew that it had done nothing to reassure Palis.

"That's just it," said Palis. "Papa doesn't trust him to be sensible. He thinks Fischer is...irrational. Crazy. Possibly even a little unhinged." Her voice was small, and it had taken on the cadence of a scared child. "I'm frightened. If Papa pleads guilty, Fischer will have won. I don't want him to win."

Neither did Julian. He thought about what Palis had told him and about what her father could do, if only he could be persuaded. He sucked on his lower lip, and then ventured, "Do you think your father would talk to me? If you asked?"

"I don't know."

"Will you ask him?"

"I don't know," she said again. Then she looked at Julian and asked, "Do you think...when all this is over... Can we at least be friends?"

Julian thought about love, secrets and lies, and about all the things that couldn't be unsaid or undone. He looked at her, and he also found himself saying, "I don't know."

Palis nodded thoughtfully. Then she got up to leave. "I'll ask him for you," she said. "But I've no idea what his answer will be."

Neither did Julian. Would Delon even agree to see him, let alone listen to what Julian had to say? And, if Delon did listen, would Julian be able to find the words necessary to convince Delon to do what he wanted?

-=o=-

When Sisko rematerialised in the alley behind the restaurant, he found himself in the middle of an afternoon storm. Rain pounded around him and on him hard enough to hurt, and so he bowed his head and made a dash for the back door. Then, once he was inside the kitchen, he straightened up, blinked water out of his eyes, and dripped.

Joseph handed him a towel and asked, while Sisko set about drying his head and face, "What are you doing back so early?"

"The rest of the meetings have been cancelled," said Sisko. "Admiral Nechayev said, now Shiva Ghazi has been discredited, we no longer need them. But I think that's just an excuse to hide the truth, which is that there is no way Fischer and I can work together. It's easier to cancel everything than to have to explain why one or the other of us has left the group."

"So, what happens now?" asked Joseph.

"Well, I talked to Major Kira, and she's going to bring the Defiant to Earth to collect me—us, if Julian wants to come back to the station."

"You think he won't?"

"I hope he will. But it's up to him. After what happened on Deep Space Nine before he left, he might want to try for a fresh start somewhere else. If he does, I won't stand in his way. Where is he, anyway?"

"Around. I think he's using the computer."

Sisko nodded, then made his way upstairs.

After Sisko had changed into dry clothes, he went in search of Julian, whom he found not at the computer console but standing by a window, staring at the storm. Sisko walked over to join him and, together, they watched in silence as lightening flashed, thunder rolled, and the rain fell straight and heavy, bouncing up from the ground. The pavements and road were hot enough to turn some of the water to vapour, shrouding them in a haze of low-lying mist.

Then, after a while, Julian said quietly, "I'll miss this place. I'll miss the work and the people and weather. I like the smell of the rain." He sounded slightly wistful and sombre.

"You're ready to move on, then?"

"I suppose so. I've got my licence back; it's time I got back to practicing medicine. But I'll be sorry to leave."

"You know you can come back any time. You'll always be welcome here."

Julian nodded.

"The Defiant will be here next week," said Sisko. "And then I'll be going back to DS9. I'd like you to come back with me, but I'll understand if you'd rather go somewhere new."

"I appreciate that, sir. But it might be difficult for me to go anywhere else. You're my Advocate and, Starfleet commission and medical licence notwithstanding, there are still lots of things I'm not supposed to do for myself."

"We could find a way to make it work, if we had to," said Sisko. Then, when Julian didn't answer immediately, Sisko said, "I'm trying to give you a choice."

"I realise that, sir. I just..." Julian shrugged. Then he said, "Do I have to give you an answer right now?"

"No," said Sisko, trying not to feel disappointed by Julian's lack of enthusiasm. He frowned, and wondered about Julian's lacklustre mood.

Sisko changed the subject. "I've got some good news."

"Oh?"

"Some of the protestors have finally left the Starfleet campus."

"Fischer probably pulled his people out," said Julian. "And, I suppose that losing Shiva Ghazi as their figurehead might have made a difference to some of the others, too."

"The news doesn't seem to have made you as happy as I'd expected."

"I am happy," said Julian, but Sisko could tell that he was lying.

"You don't sound it," said Sisko.

Julian swore in a most un-Julianlike way and threw up his hands in frustration. "Yes, it's good that some of the protestors have gone. But most are still there, aren't they?"

Sisko nodded.

"So, not much has changed, then, has it?" Julian sighed. "I think things are settling down to what normal is going to be from now on. But things will never go back to how they were before, will they?" Then he picked up a PADD, held it out, and said, "Here. Read this."

Sisko raised his eyebrows. "What is it?" Then, after reading the expression on Julian's face, he said, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, really," said Julian flatly. "It's the ruling from the Medical Standards Board. The message confirms the MSB's decision to allow me to retain my licence."

"That's good...isn't it?"

"It's a relief to see the decision formally documented. I tell myself that I should be pleased. I _am _pleased, but..." He shook his head, unwilling or unable to say any more. "Go on. Read it."

Sisko quickly read through the communication from start to finish. Then he read it again. He looked at Julian and his voice was thick with sympathy as he said, "I'm sorry."

Julian turned away from him and bowed his head. "Winning the court case... Getting my licence back... They were such huge things. And, for a while, it felt as though they had changed the world—my world, at any rate. But they haven't. Not really. Fischer's still out there, and the laws are still the same, and the prejudice... And now I'm finding out what the real level of prejudice is, and..." His words caught in the back of his throat. "It's still there. I was allowed to stay in Starfleet, but I can never be promoted. I'm no longer recorded as human. My citizenship was revoked. The court case and the appeal... They haven't changed any of that."

Julian took a deep breath, forced his voice back under control, and then continued. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm just having a bad day. I know that I can fight to get my rights back, and I will. But there are no guarantees and it's all in the future and, just at the moment, it all feels a long, long way away. In the meantime, there's this." He pointed at the PADD. "Being told that I'm no longer eligible for any awards and prizes, and having my nomination for the Carrington retroactively withdrawn... I shouldn't let it get to me. I mean, I know that they're little things and, compared to everything else, it shouldn't matter. But somehow it does."

Sisko didn't know what to say. Should he tell Julian that he was wrong? That the Board's ruling should matter to him? Or should he tell him a reassuring lie?

In the end, he did neither. Instead, Sisko turned Julian around, pulled him into his arms, and pretended not to notice how deeply Julian's fingers dug into his back as Julian held on.

-=o=-

Julian stood on the Parisian pavement and rang one of the doorbells on the wall of the historic apartment block.

Judging from the length of time it took Delon to answer, Julian figured that the security systems were vetting Delon's visitors thoroughly. Either that, or Julian had caught him on the toilet.

Julian shifted nervously from foot to foot as he waited expectantly, but he was still taken by surprise when the door clicked open and Delon's voice told him to come up.

Everything about the apartment building, including several cracked floor tiles in the foyer and the cobwebs on the light fittings, was as Julian remembered from his previous visits.

He jogged his way up the curving communal staircase, only stopping when he reached the fourth floor.

Delon was waiting for him, framed by the doorway to the apartment.

Julian had known that Delon would not greet him with hearty bonhomie, but he had not known what to expect. A handshake? A "Bonjour, how are you?" Or something more abrupt? As it was, Delon didn't bother to greet him at all. Instead, he left that nicety to the security computer, which also instructed him on how and when to pass through the lowered forcefield.

Julian stepped over the threshold and heard the security system reactivate behind him.

Delon's manner was resigned and weary as he nodded at Julian and said, "This way."

As Julian followed Delon along the hall, he asked, "Where's Palis?"

"She's spending the day with Augustine Giradot."

Julian hoped, for Palis's sake, that the two women were working on rebuilding their friendship; he had a feeling they each would benefit from the other's support.

For his own part, he felt a curious disappointment. But, really, what had he thought? That he and Palis could rekindle a long dead relationship, one that he'd walked out on years before? That kind of happy ending was a dream, a mirage. He needed to grow up.

Suddenly, he was relieved by and grateful for her absence.

"She finds excuses to avoid me, most days. She barely talks to me. But at least she hasn't moved out. Yet."

"She wants to forgive you," said Julian.

Delon sounded pathetically hopeful when he said, "You think so?"

Julian nodded. "She's trying to understand. She wouldn't do that if she didn't care." Why was he trying to comfort Delon? Surely it didn't matter to him if Delon was hurting.

Maybe Julian didn't know why he'd said anything, but something inside Delon seemed to soften, and Julian was glad that he had. Delon's demeanour expressed gratitude, even if his mouth did not, and Julian hoped that it might help to ease the course of the conversation ahead.

"Palis said that you wanted to talk to me," Delon said. "What about? Didn't you say everything before, at the appeal?"

Julian shook his head. "Not quite. I didn't get to talk about your cousin."

"My cousin?"

"Admiral Fischer."

Delon did a reasonable job of guarding his countenance, but it wasn't good enough. Julian took careful note of the tightening of Delon's lips and the twitching of his right eyelid, and he wondered whether the mutants' skill at reading faces had rubbed off on him.

Delon said, "Come in here."

Julian remembered Delon's study of old. The ceiling was high and covered with exuberantly ornate plasterwork. The burgundy carpet was still thick. The heavy curtains hung from ceiling to floor, and were held clear of the windows with rope tiebacks. There was an antique fireplace, and all the furniture was likewise period to the building. There were more leather bound paper books on the shelves in the room than Julian had seen anywhere outside of Starfleet's library.

Delon's home was a far cry from the modern, utilitarian buildings that Julian had lived in when he was growing up. He remembered being intimidated the first time he'd visited, and it had taken a number of invitations and some clandestine research before he stopped worrying about which cutlery and glasses he should use for which dinner course, or about touching the various knick-knacks. Very few things in the Delons' apartment were less than two hundred years old.

Now, though, everything felt smaller than Julian remembered, and the décor seemed more ostentatious than sophisticated. Delon seemed smaller, too, and he had aged ten years in just a few days.

Delon settled himself into one of a pair of wing chairs, which were carefully positioned by the window to catch the midday sun. He gestured for Julian to sit in the other.

Julian feigned nonchalance, crossed his long legs, and carefully hid his discomfort. Then, when it became obvious that Delon was waiting for him to take the initiative, Julian said, "I know that Fischer met with you several times before and after my disciplinary tribunal. And I know that he...influenced...you, to make sure that I was struck off the medical register."

The muscle in Delon's eyelid twitched again. Then he nodded and said, "Perhaps I should have recused myself from the hearing. I thought about it. But I told myself that I could be impartial, and you didn't protest, so..." He shrugged.

At least Delon had thought about the conflict of interests. Nobody else had, least of all Julian. Others, like Dinmont and Sisko, had the excuse of not having known about Julian and Delon's shared history, but Julian had known, and he hadn't seen fit to mention it. Instead, Julian had allowed that detail to be overwritten by his feelings of guilt, shame and the certainty that normal considerations didn't apply to him. Julian had been conditioned to think that way and he'd been foolish, and he'd never be so naïve again.

"Then Fischer turned up," continued Delon. "He reminded me that I owed him favours, and he told me that he was calling them in. What he wanted wasn't unreasonable: you _had_ lied and broken the law. In fact, when I first heard about you, I was angry enough that I would have taken away your licence then and there, if I could. But, procedures... You know. There had to be a case. There had to be a hearing."

"That's not the story Palis told me. She seems to think that Fischer was threatening you from the very beginning."

Delon shrugged again. "Maybe I was a little vague about the specifics. Maybe I wanted her to think the best of me. Can you blame me?"

Julian could—and did—blame Delon, but he chose not to say so. But then, sometimes silence could be as eloquent as speech, and, from the expression on Delon's face, Julian knew that this silence had hit home.

"You know Palis wants you to tell to the police that it wasn't you who killed the clone?"

Delon shook his head. "I can't."

"Why not? You'd be doing the right thing, and it's what Palis wants. She doesn't want you to be punished for something you didn't do."

"She told you that?"

"Yes."

Delon sat in thoughtful silence, and Julian tried to be patient while Delon wrestled with himself over what to do.

Finally, Delon sighed, and then he continued his explanation. He was talking to buy time, and Julian could tell that Delon had yet to decide on a preferred course of action.

"Fischer was triumphant after the tribunal, but then things changed. He didn't tell me what, exactly, but when I heard about the court case, I began to understand."

Julian raised his eyebrows and asked, "What did you understand?"

"Fischer wasn't getting everything his own way, and you were fighting back. And then, after the court case, he came back to me and said I had to make sure that you lost the appeal, because you couldn't be allowed to return to practising medicine under any circumstances."

Julian felt his pulse quicken, though he wasn't sure whether it was from indignation or anticipation. "Why not?" he asked. He had the force himself to breathe normally.

"Fischer said that you couldn't be seen to have won. If he couldn't have you, he wanted to make sure that nobody else got you, either. He said he wanted—needed—you to be left with nothing. He needed to make an example out of you."

"Did he say why?"

"No, and I didn't ask. I assumed he was being vindictive. He can be a bit of a bastard, and he doesn't like to lose." Delon paused and seemed to look into the distance. But when he spoke again, Julian realised that Delon had been looking into the past.

"He's older than me. Only by a couple of years, but when you're young, that kind of thing matters. When I was a teenager, I admired him, and I wanted to impress him. He made me think that we were close enough to share secrets and ambitions, and I trusted him for a lot longer than I should have."

Julian couldn't help but be reminded of how he, himself, had felt about Delon. There was irony in there, somewhere.

Delon said, "I mean, I heard the rumours—"

"Rumours?" interrupted Julian.

"When I visited Fischer's family, I heard a lot of gossip about bullying. And later, there were mutterings about girls and how he strung them along. The rumours suggested that he wasn't a gentleman, as outmoded a concept as that may be these days. But I was so blinded by his charisma and charm that I didn't believe any of the stories, and I told him things that, with hindsight, perhaps I shouldn't have. I was in medical school when I told him that I had an idea about how to genetically enhance a child."

Incredulous, Julian interrupted, "Wait! You had the idea for genetically enhancing someone while you were still a _student_?"

"Well, yes. That bothers you? Why?"

"Ever since I found out about Jack, I've been wondering why you tried to enhance him. When did you decide to do it? Did you do it to help him, or to help your friends? But Jack hadn't been born when you had the idea, so now I'm asking myself, did you lie in wait until you found a child that you could use? Is that what happened?"

Stiffly, Delon said, "I had an idea, and it was revolutionary. Brilliant. And then, when the opportunity presented itself with Jacques... If I had succeeded, I would have been a hero! A legend!"

"_That's_ why you did it? To become a legend? You did it because you wanted to be the man who perfected genetic enhancement? My God! You did it out of ambition!"

"I believed that I could make a difference. My technique would have offered hope to... You of all people must understand."

Julian didn't bother replying.

"It would have been a great scientific breakthrough, a way to improve the quality of life for thousands if not millions of people." Delon shook his head. "I saw it as the possible future evolution of the human race, because my technique could have been used to enhance anyone...everyone...who wanted it. It didn't just have to be used to improve the defective few."

Julian flinched at Delon's choice of words. Delon didn't seem to notice.

"But when I told Fischer about my idea, he didn't see it as something that could be used for the greater good of humanity. He saw it as an opportunity. He was every bit as ambitious as I, but the form his ambition took was quite different. He said, if someone could create an army of genetically enhanced soldiers, and if they were put to work in Intelligence, the Federation would be safe from all its enemies. And if he were the one _controlling_ an army of genetically enhanced operatives, then he would have more power than any other person alive. I didn't take him seriously. I mean, it would have taken years to create the people he wanted. We'd have had to find suitable candidates for enhancement, and then we'd have had to wait decades for those candidates to reach maturity. His idea was a pipedream, and I told him so."

"What did he say to that?"

"He laughed and said that, yes, of course I was right, but that he wanted to know how I got on with my project, anyway. And that was the first time I really understood that he might be...a little crazy. So I didn't tell him when I carried out the procedure on Jacques. Not straight away, anyway."

"But after your...experiments...with Jacques didn't work out the way you'd intended...?" The words tasted foul in Julian's mouth.

"Yes, I told him then," said Delon. "I had to. Leaving Jacques at the Institute didn't work out quite the way we'd expected, and I needed his help. By then, Fischer was a middle-ranking officer, and he was able to tell me how to go about faking the documents. He was so excited about what I'd done, even though it hadn't worked out, and he told me to let him know the next time I tried to enhance someone. But I gave up that avenue of investigation. I truly believed that I'd made a grievous mistake. I thought enhancement _couldn't _be perfected, and I gave up my dreams and my work, and I concentrated on developing my career in more conventional directions."

Things fell into place for Julian, and he remembered how Delon had offered to mentor him and stop him from making the mistakes that an ambitious, arrogant, young doctor might make. Looking back, Julian could see that Delon had wanted to keep him on the straight and narrow, and had done his best to steer Julian towards a safe and respectable career.

"You were right, of course," said Delon bitterly. "What you said at the appeal. You do represent my failure to me. I was arrogant enough to think that, if I couldn't successfully enhance anyone, nobody could. And then, there you were: whole and mentally stable. You made me feel like a failure, because somehow, somewhere, someone else had managed to do what I had failed to. So, yes, I did resent you and feel anger towards you. I still do."

Julian opened his mouth to protest that that was hardly his fault, but Delon held up a hand to stop him.

"I want to make something very clear. Regardless of my personal feelings about you, you did break the law, and the MSB would have been remiss not to discipline you. You're hardly innocent in all this."

"I know that," said Julian.

"You were struck off, Fischer was happy, and I was relieved. Then, when I heard about the court case on the news, I realised what Fischer was up to. I might have given up on my dreams, but he'd never given up on his. He still wanted a genetically enhanced operative—you—under his control."

"What if," said Julian carefully, "he still wants more than one operative?"

"How? There is only you. And you managed to get away from him."

"I'm the only one that you know of. But Starfleet thinks that there may be a lot more people like me living out there in hiding. Fischer encouraged Medical to figure out how I managed to join Starfleet without anyone being any the wiser." Then, choosing his words carefully to make Fischer's plans sound more nebulous than he knew them to be, Julian asked, "What if Fischer wants to work backwards from what he knows about me to find other people that he can recruit?"

Julian thought Delon looked faintly repulsed by the idea. Then Delon said, "Even if you're right, I don't see that there is anything I can do about it."

Julian smiled thinly and humourlessly. "Just by telling me as much as you have, you've already done more than I'd realistically hoped. There are other things you could do, if you had a mind to, but I don't _expect_ you to do any of them."

Delon stood up. He wandered over to the fireplace and adjusted the two silver candlesticks that were standing on the mantelpiece. Then he turned around and said, "Fischer's dangerous."

Julian hid his reaction. Of course he knew that already, but to hear Delon say it... That was a surprise, and it was the best indication Julian had yet had that Delon was seriously considering his options.

Delon stood silently for a few seconds. Julian waited him out. Then Delon said, "He's manipulative and secretive, and he wants power. It's like a drug to him. The power he seeks isn't a means to an end. It _is_ the end. He's megalomaniacal and quite possible paranoid."

"You think he should be stopped?"

"I didn't say that."

"But you were thinking it, weren't you?" Then, without giving Delon time to answer, he said, "If you talked to the police...told them what you know..."

Delon considered Julian carefully. Then he shook his head and said, "I can't take the risk."

"Can't you?"

Delon walked over to a credenza. He opened its doors and pulled out a decanter and a couple of glasses. "Brandy?" he asked.

Julian declined and watched quietly as Delon poured himself a triple and headed back to his chair.

Delon sat down, swirled the brandy around the inside of the balloon glass, sniffed it, and set it aside, untouched, on an occasional table. Then he said to Julian, "Tell me what you think I can do. I'm not making any promises, but..."

"Well... To begin with, tell me what really happened."

"When?"

"With Jack—Jacques Giradot. You went to Fischer when things didn't work out, and...?"

Delon sighed. "As you know, I left Jacques at the Institute."

For a moment, Julian thought that Delon was just going to repeat his earlier story, but as Delon carried on talking, he realised that he was finally getting the unedited version.

"But Philippe and I hadn't thought things through, and Jacques talked. Someone obviously listened to what he had to say, because the police got in touch with the Giradots. Philippe came to see me. He was in a panic, and he said that we were all in danger. Our careers... If we couldn't find a way out, we would all go to prison. And then I thought of Fischer. So I got in touch, and I told him everything. He said that I would owe him, but that he would sort everything out. And he did. But he... I didn't know what he was going to do. I had no idea about the kinds of resources he had access to. I thought that he'd just give me some advice and, maybe, if I was lucky, that he would be able to pull some strings somewhere. But he did a lot more than that. He purged the records at the Institute, got some of Jacques's DNA, and produced the clone. And then he killed it, and...and we were in so deep— You can't imagine what it was like. It was awful and repugnant, but we got away with it, and I vowed never to let myself get into that kind of situation ever again."

"Fischer murdered the clone," said Julian. Palis had already told him that and Julian had made it clear to Delon that he knew the truth, but somehow having heard Delon say the words made it seem all the more real.

"Yes," Delon agreed.

"Could you prove that?" Julian had to force himself not to cross his fingers as he waited for Delon to reply. "If you had to?"

"Probably not," admitted Delon, and Julian felt a wave of disappointment wash over him. "Although Philippe would back up my story, if I asked him." He paused, then he said, "I assume you heard: Philippe Giradot is being extradited from Vulcan."

Julian hadn't heard, but he didn't say so. Besides, he wasn't altogether surprised.

Delon finally took a swig from his brandy glass, then he said, "It took about ten years before I began to believe that we'd got away with what we'd done, and that we were safe. Who'd have thought that we'd have been found out after all this time?"

Julian was sure that the question was rhetorical, so he didn't bother to answer. Instead, he said, "You mentioned that there were rumours. When you were young."

Delon nodded slowly.

"From before Fischer joined Starfleet?"

"Yes. And after."

"Was there anything more concrete than rumours?" Julian asked slowly and carefully.

"I don't know," said Delon, and if he had said nothing more, Julian would have left it at that. But then Delon added, "Not for certain, anyway."

"If there were anything, would you know where to go looking? Who to ask?"

Delon blinked at Julian, and something that was almost certainly fear crinkled the skin around his eyes. "Maybe. But why would I want to?"

That was an interesting question. It made Julian hope that Delon wanted to be persuaded to give up his secrets. Then again, maybe Julian was suffering from a severe case of wishful thinking.

Measuring and choosing his words with care, Julian said, "I didn't say you would."

"You implied it," said Delon.

One thing Julian had learned during his time on Earth was that not all family ties were equal. He thought about his own family: his parents; the rest of the Bashirs; the Fahids. He thought about how his parents had turned their back on kin to protect Julian and their secret. He thought of his uncles, of Lionel, who'd wanted to get to know him, and of Samil who had tried to kill him. And he thought of the new family he'd found with the Sisko's, and how they were related by choice, not genetics.

Family ties were complicated and messy and tangled. Julian hoped that he'd read those of the Fischer-Delon family correctly and that, while blood ties and memories linked Delon and Fischer, the ties between father and daughter were stronger.

Julian gambled and asked, "Well... You want Palis to be safe, don't you?"

"Of course. But if I accuse Fischer of anything, it might make things worse."

"What if," asked Julian, forcing himself to sound tentative and unthreatening, "there was a way to make sure that you wouldn't be implicated? That we could bring Fischer down and nothing would be traced back to you?"

Delon leaned forward in his chair. "Do you think that's possible?"

"It might be."

"How?"

"I know a journalist. Elizabeth Lilienfeld. I think she'd help." Julian almost smiled. "She likes a good scandal. She can find out the dirtiest dirt, and she's discreet." Julian didn't mention the part she'd played in finding out about Delon's own crimes; he had a feeling that wouldn't help his argument. Besides, Delon was more than capable of figuring it out on his own, if he bothered to give the matter any thought. "Starfleet is protecting Fischer, so if we want to discredit him, perhaps we need to look elsewhere. We need to find people who can act against him. You can point us in the right direction. You might be the only person who can."

"I don't know," said Delon doubtfully. Then, more firmly, he said, "I don't think I want to get involved. I can't take the chance."

Julian wanted to sigh. It sounded as though Delon was refusing to help. But then Julian realised, Delon hadn't sounded adamant, so maybe there was still a chance. "Talk to Palis," he said. "Ask her what she wants you to do, and listen to what she has to say."

"I can't," said Delon again.

Julian stood up and walked over to Delon's desk. Then, without asking for permission, he picked up a PADD and stylus. He pecked at the PADD's screen, then said, "I've put Lilienfeld's contact details in here. In case you change your mind."

Delon didn't reply, and Julian didn't dare push any further.

"Well..." Julian said. He struggled to find a neat way to wrap up the conversation. He failed, and found himself fumbling though clumsy goodbyes, ending with, "I'll see myself out."

Delon remained silent throughout Julian's leave-taking.

As he left the room, Julian glanced back. His last sight of Pierre Delon was of an old man slumped in an even older armchair, staring into space. How much of the man Julian had once admired still existed in the diminished husk that he was leaving behind? Had that man ever really existed at all?

Julian walked along the corridor, got the computer's permission to leave, opened the apartment door, walked over the threshold, and then listened as the door locked behind him.

As he made his way down the stairs, Julian thought about Jack and the other mutants, and the power of positive thinking. Delon had agreed to see him. Delon had given Julian information and had heard him out. Those were positive things, weren't they?

Maybe Delon hadn't wanted to help any further today, but was it beyond the realms of possibility that he might change his mind in the future? Mightn't he be changing it even now?

As Julian let himself out the building, he mentally crossed his fingers and hoped.

-=o=-

Julian made a detour on his way back to New Orleans.

The Mediterranean sun baked down and reflected heat bounced up from the parched ground. Julian's skin prickled and dripped with perspiration as he walked through the cemetery, looking first for the right section of the grounds, then for the right area, and finally for the right plot.

Eventually, squinting in the afternoon glare, he found the grave marker. It was a simple affair: a slab of dark marble inscribed with his mother's name—the name she'd had before she'd got married—and dates and a curt message that described her as the daughter of Jamil and Petra Fahid. The family Amsha had abandoned in life had done ill by her in death. There was no mention that she'd been a wife or a mother, or that she'd been loved, or that she was missed by anyone, and Julian felt a rush of anger at the lie presented by the headstone.

Julian had loved her, and he missed her, more than he'd ever imagined that he could.

Now that he was struggling to accept that sometimes people could do bad things for good reasons, Julian's feelings towards his parents were more complicated than ever.

He was someone who had had a bad thing done to him. But he was slowly coming to accept that maybe, just maybe, his parents had done it for the best of all possible reasons. They had done it for love.

It was hard to believe that Amsha was lying under the disturbed soil. Julian didn't feel her presence, but then he hadn't really expected to. He was familiar enough with death that the physical remains held no mystery for him and, wherever her soul was, he was sure it wasn't here.

He'd wondered how he would react when he was faced with her grave. Would he want to speak to her or, as a mark of respect, to reverently lay down the flowers he'd brought with him?

In the end, he did neither. Instead, he just stood quietly as he tried to imagine what the funeral had been like and how many people had shown up.

Would he have felt differently if the stone had been carved with some other message, or if he'd witnessed the funeral, or if she had been buried in a place that he'd associated with her from when she was still alive? She was buried with "family", but neither the names nor the place held any meaning for him.

Julian wondered how was he going to explain any of this to his father and what, if anything, they could do to make things right. What would Amsha have wanted? Would his father know?

Then he turned around and walked away, finally putting the flowers down on a memorial to the dead of World War III. He'd come, but he was leaving without any sense of closure, just a lot of unanswered—maybe unanswerable—questions.

-=o=-

"How did it go?" asked Sisko much later. "With Delon, I mean?"

Julian summarised their conversation and said, "He confirmed everything. Fischer grew and killed the clone. Other than that, only time will tell. I gave Elizabeth Lilienfeld's contact details to him, and I told him that he may be the only person who can help us to bring Fischer down."

"Do you think he will?"

Julian considered the odds and remembered the man he'd once known. Maybe Delon would help them out of revenge. Maybe he'd help because it might prove to be the best way to protect Palis, or because it was the correct thing to do.

Maybe Delon wouldn't do anything at all.

Finally Julian said, "I hope so. Fischer manipulated Pierre Delon, too. And, if any part of the man I once thought I knew really exists inside of him, perhaps he'll choose to do the right thing."

-=o=-

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

Wow. We're almost there. Just one more chapter left...

Thank you to everyone who has stuck it out this far. I hope that the journey has been worth it, and that the final chapter will tie up the remaining loose ends to your satisfaction.


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter Thirty-four**

Julian sat, knees to chest, on the fire escape and watched as the sun disappeared over the horizon. He had made arrangements to meet up with Hessayon and Lilienfeld later on, but, right now, he had a lot to think about and time to kill.

Julian was looking forward to practising medicine again. He'd fought so hard to be allowed to do that! But, everything else... The idea of trying to rebuild the rest of his life was daunting.

Julian told himself that he wanted to go back to Deep Space Nine, but he couldn't help remembering how uncomfortable he'd felt during his last few weeks there. He'd been assaulted and insulted, avoided and despised, and his old quarters had been vandalised. Did he really want to go back to that?

The USS Defiant was due to arrive anytime now, Sisko would be returning to the ship within the next few days, and Julian had still not decided whether he was going to go with him.

Julian and Sisko both agreed that getting Julian emancipated was a high priority, and Julian knew, until that was done, staying together would be the most convenient option. However, the fact that it was convenient didn't make it right. Then again, did he have any practical alternative? And, even if he could find somewhere else to go, would it be any better?

For a moment, the lure of somewhere fresh and bright and perfect and new caught him, but Julian knew that it was a mirage, nothing more than a fantasy vision of his own personal utopia.

He doubted any such place existed. Plus, starting over would mean leaving friends and allies behind. At least on Deep Space Nine, he'd have Sisko and O'Brien, Jadzia and Garak, and all the others. So...maybe Deep Space Nine wouldn't be so bad. And maybe he had never had a choice to make, just the wish for one.

Nonetheless, something still held Julian back from committing himself, and, although Sisko hadn't hurried him, Julian knew that time was running out. He would need to give his answer soon.

He sighed.

Julian would miss New Orleans. Sisko's restaurant had been a haven, a refuge, when he'd needed one most. But, that wasn't a good enough reason to prolong his stay, and he couldn't hide forever.

Joseph had mentioned earlier in the day that he was going to close the restaurant for a private function that evening, and then he'd muttered something about short notice and needing to do the best they could.

Julian had helped to prepare the buffet, but, once the food was ready and waiting in the refrigerators, Joseph had thanked him for his help, had told him that he wouldn't be needed again, and had banished him from the kitchen.

After all the time he'd spent in the restaurant, it felt odd not to be wanted, and Julian's current idleness was making him feel restless. He supposed that he could catch up on his medical journals, but he'd rather be helping out, if he could. Surely, it wouldn't hurt to offer to serve or wash up?

He clambered to his feet and dusted off his derriere. He took a final look at the darkening sky and the first of the evening's stars, and then he made his way downstairs.

-=o=-

Julian walked into the dining room and stopped abruptly. The room was full of familiar faces, all looking his way, all beaming. Then they shouted, "Surprise!" and burst into applause.

"I knew you wouldn't be able to keep away," said Joseph, clapping him on the back.

Julian stared, his mouth hanging open in astonishment. There was the captain, Nathan, Shanna and Patti. They'd been joined by Loews and Magnusdottir. Lionel and most of Lionel's family were there, too. Even Patrick, Lauren, Jack and Sarina had been allowed to come.

And there were his friends from Deep Space Nine: O'Brien; Kira; Odo; Jadzia; even Garak. Jake Sisko and Nog were both there, too.

Julian blinked, but the image didn't fade away. They were really here. On Earth. In New Orleans.

Weakly, Julian turned to Joseph and said, "I just came down to see whether you needed any help..."

Joseph patted him lightly on his shoulder and replied, "No, you're fine. As you can see, we've got things pretty much under control."

The private function was for him. These people were here for him. He'd known that they had rallied around to help, but seeing them all together like this, in one place...

Flustered, he said, "But...I'm supposed to be meeting Professor Hessayon and Elizabeth Lilienfeld later. We made arrangements..."

Joseph grinned. "Don't worry. The professor is over there, and Lilienfeld will be along later, although she's sent a message to say that she's been held up and that she'll be a little late."

"Oh," said Julian, letting himself be reassured. "That's all right then." He looked around the room again and felt himself relax. His smile widened. "This is...incredible."

"It's a party!" exclaimed Patrick enthusiastically, from across the room. His excited comment provoked a lot of good-natured laughter.

"Yes," said Joseph. "It is."

Julian wanted to talk to everyone, but he had no idea where to start. Garak, Odo and Jadzia solved his dilemma for him when they honed in on him and demanded his attention. Jadzia wrapped her arms around him, squeezed, and said, "It's good to see you."

Julian squinted to look at Odo, who nodded, and at Garak, who smiled a closed-mouthed, slit-eyed smile and tilted his head in agreement.

Jadzia's embrace was cool and comfortable, and Julian would have been happy to linger in it. However, mindful that she had a boyfriend, he pulled away and asked, "Where's Worf?"

"He stayed on the Defiant. Somebody had to, and parties really aren't his thing."

Nor, thought Julian, was spending unnecessary time with someone who had been genetically altered as a child. To his surprise, while the thought saddened him, he realised that it barely hurt. He could live with Worf's disapproval.

Julian looked around again, still struggling to believe what was happening. He knew and trusted everybody here, and he knew that they accepted him as he was, in a way that many people never would. These were the people who were nearest and dearest to him, and, surrounded by them all, he felt safe and loved in a way he'd never before experienced. He felt a lump swell in his throat and a tightness in his chest, and he wondered how joy could feel so painful.

Patrick sidled up to Julian and pulled on his sleeve to attract his attention. Julian smiled at him, and at the other mutants, who were clustered close behind.

"All these people like you," said Patrick, full of wide-eyed wonder. "You said people hated people like us."

"You said that?" asked Garak, raising one eyebrow, as though he found the idea vaguely surprising.

"Well, some people do," said Julian, justifying himself. He glanced around the room, at Garak, and then back at the four mutants. "Then again, some people don't hate us at all." His smile expanded into a grin.

"You're happy!" said Patrick.

"I guess I am," said Julian.

"We've never seen you happy before," said Lauren. She reached out and stroked his arm, and Julian gathered that she approved.

Jack made some kind of derisive snort, but didn't say anything.

Patrick changed the subject abruptly. "Did you hear? Jack's got a name and a sister."

"She came to visit us," said Lauren.

"She said she'll come again. Yes. Yes," said Jack.

"She says she's going to write a book about Jack. Isn't that nice?" said Patrick.

"It's going to be a sequel to _Penumbra_," said Lauren.

"We're all going to be in it," said Patrick. "We'll be famous."

"_Penumbra_ won an award," said Lauren.

"Have you read it?" asked Patrick.

"I can't say that I have," said Julian.

"Don't bother," said Jack. "It's not very good."

The others, except for Sarina, nodded their agreement.

"They're pretty tactless, aren't they?" observed Garak, a while later, after the mutants had wandered off.

"They speak as they find. Now I've got used to it, I find it rather refreshing," said Julian.

"Really?" asked Garak doubtfully.

"When I'm talking to them, I don't have to worry about hidden meanings, veiled hints, or what they're not saying. Compared to a lot of people, I find them very restful."

"Ah, but where's the challenge in that?"

Julian considered who he was talking to, and found himself saying, "I suppose you might have a point."

-=o=-

Julian finally managed make his way over to say hello to O'Brien. However, Julian was distracted and, within five minutes, and sounding a little put out that he didn't have Julian's undivided attention, O'Brien asked, "Why do you keep looking towards the door? You waiting for someone?"

"What? Oh, yes. Sorry. I arranged to meet a couple of people this evening, before I found out about this." Julian gestured vaguely, taking in the whole room with a sweep of his arm. "One of them is here, but the other... I wonder what's keeping her?"

"Her?" asked O'Brien, waggling his eyebrows and nudging Julian with his elbow.

"It's nothing like that. She's a journalist. Besides, she's old enough to be my mother!"

"So?"

"Miles!" Julian found himself laughing at the teasing. Then he sighed happily and said, "It was good of you all to come."

Miles harrumphed and said, "You don't think I came all this way just for you, do you? I wanted to see my family before war breaks out. I might not get another chance."

"Oh."

Maybe Miles detected a touch of hurt or doubt in Julian's voice or expression, because he dropped all pretence and mockery, and he said, "From what the captain's father told us, now that you've got your licence back, there were a lot of people on Earth who wanted a chance to say goodbye, and we wanted to come and take you home." O'Brien stared intently into Julian's eyes. "You are coming home, aren't you?"

"Home?"

"Back to Deep Space Nine."

"Ah, well...I... I still haven't quite decided yet. I want to. At least, I think I do. But..."

"It'll be different this time. You'll see."

Julian wished he could believe that.

"Look at it this way... You can always leave. But come back. Try. At least for a little while. If things don't work out, we won't stop you going again. But at least give us a chance. It hasn't been the same without you. I need my dart's partner back, and I've missed you in the squadron. Don't you miss blasting the jerries?"

"Yes," said Julian. "But, if I come..."

"Yes?"

"I was wondering... Could I sometimes choose the programme?"

O'Brien raised his eyebrows, as though Julian's request had taken him completely by surprise.

"I was thinking...I have that spy programme, which might be fun to play in a group, or maybe...have you ever been fishing?"

"As a kid, back in Ireland, yeah. All that waiting around and being quiet. God, it was boring!" said O'Brien. "But I'll go spying or fishing with you, if it means you'll come back."

Julian looked at O'Brien, then at everyone else in the room, then inside himself, and then at O'Brien again. Slowly he nodded.

O'Brien's face split into a grin and he slapped Julian's back so hard that Julian winced. "You won't regret it! You'll see! You bloody won't!"

Just then, Kira joined them. "What won't he regret?" she asked.

"Julian's just agreed to come back with us. What d'you say to that?"

Kira looked at Julian. Then she said, a small smile playing around her lips, "I think, now everything's out in the open, that I look forward to getting to know the real you."

"Thank you, Major. That means a lot to me." Then, shyly, he admitted, "Not everyone has been so...generous."

-=o=-

Julian was listening in on the enthusiastically argumentative discussion that Garak and the mutants were having about Cardassian literature when Lilienfeld finally arrived.

Wrapped in her usual whirlwind of activity and clatter, and apologising loudly and excitedly for her tardy appearance, she said, "I'd have been here sooner, but I couldn't miss Fischer's arrest now, could I!" She forced her way through the crowd to get to Julian, and then she hugged him exuberantly.

"Arrest?" asked Julian.

Lilienfeld laughed, apparently still on a high from the scoop she'd managed to engineer. "Extortion. Fraud. Aiding and abetting the falsification of records. Attempting to pervert the course of justice...murder. And that's just for starters! My message service is going into overload, even as we speak. You should hear the accusations... What he did to you and to Jacques Giradot is just the tip of the iceberg! If you think the scandal is big now, just you wait!"

Delon, Julian realised, had made his decision, and had elected to do the right thing. Then, with her trademark determination and efficiency, Lilienfeld had produced results.

The news of Fischer's arrest spread around the room like wildfire and was suddenly the hottest topic of conversation at the party. Julian saw Jonas and Felicia having a lively discussion with Lilienfeld, while Jake watched and listened, inspired and awed to be in such exalted company.

"I think he hopes that some of her expertise will rub off on him," said Sisko, as he walked past.

-=o=-

Some time later, Sisko managed to drag Lilienfeld and Hessayon upstairs, to where Julian was waiting for them. Together, Julian and Sisko explained about the data chip.

"These are copies," Julian said, holding out replicas of the chip McCauley had given to Sisko. Looking at Lilienfeld, Julian said, "I hope you can make good use of the information on it, although, given what you've managed to do already, you mightn't need it."

Lilienfeld's face lit up. "I assume you'd like my source to remain anonymous?"

"Yes. Although certain people in Starfleet will know exactly where it came from."

"Don't worry. I'll make sure that nobody will be able to tie what I come up with back to you. Not for sure, anyway. The hardest part of my job is knowing where to go looking in the first place. But once I'm on the scent of a scandal, if there's muck to be raked, I'll find it." She smiled gleefully. "I won't implicate you. And I'll make sure Fischer goes down! Even further down than he is already. If that's even possible."

Julian nodded. "Thank you."

"No. Thank you!" She stepped forward, leaned in, and to Julian's astonishment, she pecked his cheek. "Believe me when I tell you, it's my pleasure." She pulled back and said, "I'm going to miss you when you're gone. You've kept me in work these last few weeks!"

"You've got plenty to keep you going," said Julian lightly, matching her tone. "And, after you've exhausted the Fischer story, well... Didn't Professor Hessayon tell you? We plan to take on the establishment, one law at a time. If we manage to keep to our schedule, I'll regain my Federation citizenship by the time I'm forty!"

"I'd wish you luck," said Lilienfeld, "but I have a feeling you won't need it. Either of you."

"And me?" asked Hessayon. "What do you want me to do with this?" He held his own chip up in the air.

"Nothing much. Just keep it safe. It's...insurance."

Hessayon nodded.

Hessayon and Lilienfeld headed downstairs, but Sisko held Julian back to say, "You didn't tell them about the hidden folder."

"No," agreed Julian. "But it is on the copies I gave them."

"Do you think they'll find it?"

"I doubt it," said Julian. "I was more worried that, if I deleted the folder, they would notice the tampering. I thought the risk of someone noticing something was missing was greater than anyone noticing it was there in the first place. And I don't want to implicate any of the people whose details are in it."

"I see," said Sisko.

"And, if anyone else does ever find those files, they'll have no reason to suppose that we knew of their existence. I think that's safer both for us and for Fischer's 'recruits'."

Sisko nodded.

"The chip, alongside whatever evidence Delon provided, and everyone who is rushing forwards to accuse him, means that we have enough material to discredit Fischer, once and for all. I don't think anyone else needs to know the rest."

"But you'll keep an eye on the 'recruits'?"

"Yes. From a safe distance."

"Aren't you curious? Wouldn't you like to know them?"

Julian shook his head sadly. "It's too dangerous. I won't jeopardise their lives just because I might like to meet more people like me. And... Sir, it helps simply to know that they're out there. Maybe I can't know them, but I know of them, and I know I'm not alone in the universe. Plus, when Professor Hessayon and I fight to get the laws changed—with your help, of course—I'll know that I'm doing it to make their lives safer and better, as well as my own and Lauren's, Jack's, Patrick's and Sarina's."

Sisko considered Julian carefully then said, "And you can live with that?"

Julian nodded. "More than that, Captain. I think I'm happy with that. Besides..." Julian smiled. "All those people downstairs. They—all of you—are all the people that I need."

"Then let's go back and join them, shall we? Before anyone comes looking for us?"

-=o=-

Shanna had taken Patti home by the time Julian got back downstairs, and Lionel and his family were more than ready to say their goodbyes, pleading exhaustion and blaming the time difference. Lionel held Julian in a tight embrace and told him not just to write, but to write regularly.

Julian hugged him back and promised that he would.

-=o=-

Julian and Loews stood together, leaning against the kitchen counter, watching the mutants mingle.

"You're gorgeous," Lauren was saying to Sisko. Next to them, Sarina stood staring at nothing, maybe or maybe not listening.

"Well, thank you," said Sisko in response to Lauren's overture. "But, just so you know, I'm already seeing someone."

"Too bad."

"There's going to be a war," said Jack.

"We've calculated the probabilities," said Lauren.

"People will die," said Patrick, his face screwing up in instant sadness.

"Why don't you tell me about it?" said Sisko.

"I've never seen them like this," said Loews. "They seem..."

"Normal?" asked Julian, with a trace of defensive bitterness.

"No," said Loews. "They'll never be that, and why should they be? I was going to say that they seem reasonably socially adept. Almost at ease. More than I would have anticipated. Like I said, I haven't seen them like this."

"Have you ever given them an opportunity to be like this before?" Julian asked. "Maybe that's why you haven't seen it."

"Touché, _Doctor_," said Loews, emphasising his title. She smiled, and he felt himself smiling back.

"If I can arrange things at my end," said Julian, "would you let them visit me? On Deep Space Nine?"

Loews nodded, "I'll see what I can do. Assuming, of course, that they want to. I won't force them."

Julian's smile widened. "There's a lot to be said for giving someone the freedom to choose."

"And you would know."

-=o=-

Much later, as Joseph, Sisko and Julian tackled the clear up, Sisko said, "I got more out of a ten minute conversation with your genetically enhanced friends than out of weeks with the Starfleet brass. They've got some very interesting ideas, which I'm going to pass on."

Julian smiled. "I think they could contribute a lot, if they are given a chance." He looked around the empty restaurant, and said, "This was great, by the way." He wanted to remember this evening for the rest of his life. Thanks to his enhancements, he probably would.

"It was Dad's idea," said Sisko.

Julian looked at Joseph and said, "Thank you."

Joseph looked up from his task of stuffing garbage sacks full of the detritus left over from the party and said, "Any time, son. Any time. Now, why don't you put these bags out while I put the coffee on?"

-=o=-

The Governor of the New Zealand penal facility relented and allowed Julian to visit his father on the day that the Defiant was due to leave Earth. Julian wondered who had pulled strings to make the visit possible, but he didn't ask, settling instead for being quietly grateful.

New Zealand was seven hours behind New Orleans, so it was still early morning when Julian materialised at the penal facility.

The prison officer at the transporter controls stared at Julian, making it obvious that, even if he didn't know what to make of him, he knew exactly who, and what, Julian was. Julian looked back at him, and waited patiently for the officer's curiosity to burn itself out.

Finally, the officer said, "You're clear. You may step down."

Julian stepped off the transporter pad. Then, when the officer went back to staring, he said, "I'm here to see my father."

"Oh! Yes. Of course! I knew that. Go down the corridor and wait in the room at the end. Someone will bring him to you."

"Thank you," said Julian.

He followed the instructions he'd been given, and he found himself in a large, impersonal space, which was set out with tables and chairs, all of which were currently standing unused. He walked past them all, and came to a stop next to a large plate glass window that offered a view over some well-maintained flowerbeds.

After five minutes, he heard two sets of footsteps approaching, and he turned around, just in time to see his father being escorted into the room.

"Dad," said Julian.

"Jules..." Richard Bashir realised his mistake and tried again. "Julian."

"It's all right, Dad. You can call me Jules, if you want to."

Richard looked Julian up and down, and he broke into a broad smile.

Richard's escort said, "Remember the rules and enjoy the visit." He gave Julian the once over, but didn't speak to him. He didn't need to; his expression was proof enough of his disdain. Richard opened his mouth to protest, but Julian shook his head fractionally, and Richard closed it again.

The escort left and, for the first time in years, Julian and Richard were alone. Julian looked at his father and realised that he had absolutely no idea what to say.

"Come on," said Richard, taking control of the situation. "I'll give you the grand tour."

Julian nodded, offered his father a vague smile, gestured, and said, "Lead on."

Richard guided Julian through a door that took them outside and past the flowerbeds that Julian had noticed before.

They strolled through the manicured landscape of the New Zealand facility. The grass was closely mown and green, and the lawns were punctuated by trees.

"It's not bad, for a prison," said Julian, after a while, partly to fill in the silence, and partly because it was true. Maybe he wouldn't have minded being locked up by the Dominion so much, had their prison looked like this. Then again, incarceration was incarceration, no matter how gilded the cage. The Institute was, physically at least, a pleasant environment, but he had had no desire to end up there, either.

"What would you know about prisons?" asked Richard.

Julian looked at his father. How easily people forgot! Then again, they hadn't talked about Julian's time in Internment Camp 371 while Julian's parents had been on Deep Space Nine. Once they'd stopped shouting at and avoiding each other, they'd had too many other things to think about.

Julian kept his voice deliberately bland as he said, "I was kidnapped by the Dominion. Their prison wasn't anything like this."

"What was it like?" Richard asked.

Julian shrugged. "Grey. Uncomfortable. And the food was terrible."

They meandered their way further into the grounds, finally coming to a stop when they found a bench in a grove of trees.

They sat down, and Julian tilted his head backwards, enjoying the play of light through the leaves. Then he lowered his head, turned to his father, and finally addressed the sehlat in the garden. "I'm sorry about Mother."

Richard blinked, nodded jerkily, and said, "Me, too. God knows what I'm going to do without her. We completed each other. She told me once that she didn't know what real happiness was, until she met me. And then we had you."

That could be taken in a number of ways, Julian thought, but when he saw the expression on his father's face he knew that Richard Bashir wasn't bitter. Julian could see no traces of regret, disappointment or recrimination. All he saw was remembered joy and love.

"We met in a park. In London. She was looking up into the branches of a magnolia. It was a perfect spring day, and there she was, standing beneath the tree, staring up at its flowers. The sunlight dappled her face, and she was smiling. She was beautiful."

Julian looked at his father. His eyes were closed, and his face looked serene, sad and happy all at once, in a way that Julian had never seen before. This wasn't the Richard Bashir he'd known growing up. This was the man his mother had fallen in love with.

Julian didn't move, and he barely dared to breathe, not wanting to shatter the moment.

Richard said, "She caught me staring at her, and I tried to apologise. I didn't think I did a very good job of it, but somehow we ended up spending the rest of the afternoon together anyway." He sighed and opened his eyes.

Now, Julian supposed, was as good, or bad, a time as any to tell his father what had happened to Amsha, and he said, "Her parents claimed her body and held the funeral while I was still in the coma."

Richard nodded, showing no surprise at the news. Presumably Lionel had already told him that much.

Then Julian told Richard about his visit to the cemetery and about the gravestone.

When Julian had finished, Richard swallowed noisily, reached over to pat Julian's hand, and nodded. Then he cleared his throat and said, "Sounds like them. Amsha always said her family was dysfunctional. I just thought they were all crazy. She was the best of the bunch, by far."

Julian said, "I'm sorry, Dad. I'd have done things differently, if I could've."

They lapsed into silence again, and then, finally, Richard said, "Samil always was a bastard, but I never expected him to do anything to hurt her. Or you."

"You knew him?" said Julian. Then he wondered why he was surprised. Samil had been at his parents' wedding, after all.

"Yes. You wouldn't believe it now, but at one time he and Amsha were quite close. Of course, she was a lot older than him. She doted on him when he was small and she loved having a little brother to make fuss of. She always had a blind spot where he was concerned. It almost killed her to leave him behind when we...well. You know." Richard shrugged. "But we made our choice, and the rest of her family understood."

Julian started and he exclaimed incredulously, "They _understood_? You mean... Mother's family knew about Adigeon Prime?"

Richard nodded and, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, he said, "Of course they knew. We couldn't have done it without their help."

Julian suddenly felt light-headed, and he was relieved that he was sitting down. "I thought... Grandmother and Grandfather... Your parents... They said they had no idea where you'd gone."

"They didn't. Your mother's family only knew because we needed Jamil to arrange the transport for us. He also provided us with the forged documents we used when we re-enrolled you back in school."

"My God..." breathed Julian. "I thought Samil killed Mother to hide the fact that we were related. But it was more than that, wasn't it?"

Richard touched Julian's arm in something that approximated a comforting gesture, and said, "I think so, yes. Being related to you wouldn't have been much of a scandal, if they really hadn't known anything about the enhancements. But being part of a family that had aided and abetted...? That would have destroyed his career." Richard sighed. "Maybe he never forgave her for leaving and that twisted him. More likely, he was twisted already. He resented me for marrying her and taking her away from him, and that was years before we left Earth. And then, when we actually did go off-planet... Well. You can imagine."

The intensity of the conversation had taken its toll, and Julian and Richard found themselves standing up, needing to move on.

"The grounds here are very Capability Brown," said Richard, as they walked.

"What?"

"Capability Brown. He was a famous English landscape architect, back in the eighteenth century, old calendar. He didn't like the formal gardens of his period. Instead, he went in for smooth, rolling grass, trees and lakes. His designs were very naturalistic."

Julian listened to his father, heard the enthusiasm in his voice, and the rather unexpected thought crossed his mind that maybe Richard knew what he was talking about. "Are you getting a chance to work on your landscaping plans?" he asked, remembering the last conversation they had shared on Deep Space Nine.

"Some of the time," said Richard. "I'm also getting to put some of my ideas into practice. See those beds over there?" He pointed. "They're mine."

"They're beautiful," said Julian honestly.

Richard looked delighted. "I've had an idea. It's for a memorial garden. For Amsha. Would you like to hear about it?"

Julian nodded and then he listened as Richard painted pictures with words, and Julian felt closer to both his parents than he'd ever felt before.

-=o=-

They were back in the reception room, and it was time for Julian and Richard to say goodbye.

"Julian... There's going to be a war, isn't there?"

"Yes."

"And you're going to be in the thick of it, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Promise me that you'll take good care of yourself. I've already lost Amsha. I couldn't bear to lose you, too."

Julian looked at his father, touched by his sincerity. He wondered how to reassure him and how to lighten the mood. He knew the odds weren't good of anyone on the frontline coming out of the conflict unscathed, but he also knew that that wasn't what Richard wanted or needed to hear. He forced himself to smile and said, "I think, if I've survived this far, after all I've been through in the last few months, I'll survive the rest. There has to be a reason why I'm still here."

Julian's words hadn't been eloquent, but his father teared up on hearing them. He hugged Julian tightly, as if his life depended on it.

Julian hugged back until a guard cleared his throat and made them step away from each other.

-=o=-

Julian materialised on the Defiant's transporter pad. The ensign at the control panel smiled at him and said, "Welcome aboard, Dr Bashir."

Julian smiled tentatively back as he stepped forward. "Thank you, Ensign...?" She was young and unfamiliar.

"McCauley, sir. Louise McCauley."

His eyes widened as he recognised her name. "I understand that you're new here, too, so...welcome aboard, yourself."

"Yes, sir. I came aboard three days ago."

"I...well... I understand that I have a lot to thank you for. I know it's inadequate, but...thank you."

Her smile broadened. "You're welcome, sir." Then she said, "The captain requested that you report to him as soon as you came aboard."

"Thank you, Ensign." Julian nodded his head at her in a gesture of goodbye and made his way out of the transporter room.

A couple of crew—again unfamiliar to him—nodded in greeting as he made his way towards the turbolift.

Less than two minutes later, Julian stepped onto the bridge. Sisko turned around in his chair and said, "Glad you could join us, Doctor."

"It's good to be here, sir," said Julian. He found himself surprised at how easily the words came.

"I take it you had no problems?"

Julian wondered whether Sisko was talking about New Zealand, or coming aboard, or both. It didn't matter, because the answers were the same. "No, sir."

"Good."

No doubt, Sisko would ask for more details later, but for now the captain seemed content to be reassured that all was well. "Now that everyone is here, let's be on our way."

Jadzia said, "Course laid in, sir, and we have been given clearance to depart."

Julian stood behind the captain's chair, listening to the routine ebb and flow of conversation. He watched as Earth swung away beneath them, and then reduced in size as the Defiant headed towards the edge of the solar system.

Julian wasn't sure how he felt to be leaving Earth. When he'd left to take up his posting on Deep Space Nine, he had been eager to get away, impatient to put as much distance between himself and home. This time he felt more ambivalent.

Parts of this most recent visit had been terrible, but there had been some good bits, too. Meeting Joseph Sisko and everyone else at the restaurant and the mutants and Uncle Lionel's family had been positive experiences. He had made friends with Professor Hessayon, Karen Loews and Magret Magnusdottir, and he'd mended bridges with his father. He wouldn't delay so long before coming home again.

As the ship passed through Jupiter's orbit, O'Brien interrupted Julian's thoughts when he said, "How does it feel to be going back to Deep Space Nine?"

"Good. Really good," said Julian, hoping that it was true. He still felt nervous about going back to the station, unsure exactly what waited for him there. He glanced around the Defiant's bridge. The rest of the bridge crew, including Worf, was in earshot. Now was as good a time as any to make an announcement. "I decided something," said Julian to O'Brien, knowing that everyone else would hear. "I don't care what anyone else thinks about me."

"Meaning what, exactly?" said O'Brien.

"Meaning, I'm done hiding from, and avoiding, people. I'm still not happy about what was done to me, but I'm not going to apologise for it any longer."

O'Brien looked as though he thoroughly approved of the sentiment.

And if Julian thought he heard Worf grunt in disgust...Well, he could live with that.

-=o=-

Julian felt more comfortable on the Defiant than he'd felt anywhere, other than in Sisko's restaurant, in a long time. He wondered what had changed.

One day, over lunch in the mess, he broached the topic with O'Brien, "There are a lot of new faces on board."

"You've noticed, huh?"

"H'm. And a lot of the old faces are missing."

O'Brien nodded.

"What happened?"

O'Brien shifted uncomfortably and started to play with his food, pushing it around the plate with his fork.

"What?" asked Julian. "I know something's happened. I can feel the difference."

O'Brien put the fork down and looked at him. "What do you mean, you can feel it?"

Julian shrugged. "People are looking at me, but it's different to before. It's not..." He hunted for a word that was more benign than "nasty". Finally, he said, "It's not unfriendly. People aren't making me feel uncomfortable. Plus, people are coming to see me in the infirmary. They're letting me treat them, rather than asking to see one of my staff instead."

"Ah," said O'Brien. "There might be a reason for all of that."

Julian nodded. "I thought that there had to be. I just want to know what it is."

O'Brien took a deep breath, and Julian could tell that he would have preferred someone else to be having this conversation. He was doubly grateful, therefore, when O'Brien began to speak. "When you got your licence back, the captain got in touch. He said that he wanted to offer the personnel on Deep Space Nine a 'one time only' deal. He told Major Kira and Dax to make it clear to everyone that he would expect anyone who stayed on the Defiant or on the station to work with you, and then he gave everyone a choice: put up and shut up, or transfer somewhere else. He said he'd allow anyone who wanted to transfer out to do so without prejudice, but he wasn't prepared to tolerate any further actions or behaviours that would make anyone on the station feel unwelcome."

Julian stared. "But...but I hadn't decided... Nobody knew that I'd be coming back then..."

"The captain knew. At least, he was pretty confident you would."

Julian stared as O'Brien continued his tale. As an act of faith, Sisko's actions were remarkable. Julian had never told him about the mutants and the power of positive thinking, but it seemed as though Sisko had figured it out for himself, anyway.

O'Brien said softly, "Quite a few people voted with their feet."

"Oh," said Julian. He'd thought he'd become hardened to his situation in the last few weeks, but it still hurt to know that people he'd worked with closely with had walked away. Then again, it had hurt him to have them turn against him on the station. Perhaps things were better this way.

"There's something else I need to tell you. Counsellor Telnorri was one of the people who left."

Julian felt as though someone had sucker punched him. Julian had struggled hard to cooperate with Telnorri and, thanks to their sessions together, Telnorri had known more about him than anyone else on the station. Julian couldn't help but feel that, by leaving, Telnorri had let him down, betrayed him, kicked him in the teeth and stabbed him in the back, all at the same time.

"To be fair," O'Brien said, "I think you were an excuse. Telnorri never much liked Deep Space Nine. I mean, he never went to Quark's. He didn't have much of a social life. So, when Sisko offered everyone the chance to leave, he leapt at the opportunity. He didn't go because of you."

But he hadn't cared enough to stay, either.

Worf had stayed. Probably he'd stayed because of Jadzia, but nonetheless he'd stayed.

Sounding slightly happier, now that he'd got the bad news out of the way, O'Brien continued. "Sisko insisted that anyone who transferred to the Defiant or the station must be willing to work with you. He had Dax and Kira vet all the transfers."

Julian's mouth opened in amazement. They'd gone to all that bother, not knowing for sure that he'd be coming back. As a gesture of faith and support, it took his breath away. "Then...all these people...everyone on this ship... They don't mind...me?"

O'Brien gave him a perfunctory smile, which he combined with a single huff of laughter. "No, Julian. They don't mind you. In fact, one or two of the medical staff wanted to transfer to the Defiant, just so that they had a chance to work with you."

"I don't know what to say," said Julian.

"Then don't say anything."

-=o=-

War was inevitable. Maybe not today or even tomorrow, but sometime soon. For now, however, Sisko was determined to take a break from the worry and preparations. Maybe he was trying too hard to appear relaxed and to be having fun. Maybe the others would be able to see through his veneer of unconcern.

Maybe not. After all, it wasn't as though the news was all bad. The Admiral Fischer scandal looked set to run and run, as more people crawled out of the woodwork to denounce him, and Sisko couldn't help but smile at that. Lilienfeld had found people going back decades who were prepared to accuse Fischer of coercion, extortion and blackmail.

Starfleet couldn't cover up for him any longer. Nor did it seem to want to, and Admiral Nechayev had gone on record to promise that there would be a full investigation into Fischer's activities.

Julian had shared Lilienfeld's off the record account of the announcement Nechayev had made to the baying press corps with Sisko. It had been even more colourful and entertaining than the official version that Lilienfeld had filed with the FNS, which was saying something.

Sisko sat on the balcony of Quark's, looking down into the morass of people below, and he smiled. He watched Julian lift a dart, aim and throw. The dart hit a small area somewhere between the bulls-eye and the outer ring of the board.

Sisko didn't know much about the game, or about how it was scored. However, from the way Julian was grinning, he could tell that Julian was doing well.

Another dart. Another throw. The second dart nestled next to the first.

A third dart joined the others.

Then Julian's grin grew even bigger, and Sisko thought that he heard him crow, "Beat that, Chief!" Maybe Sisko had just imagined it, but he certainly wasn't imagining the scowl on O'Brien's face.

Sisko turned as he heard someone pull the seat next to him away from the table. Jadzia sat down. "One hundred and eighty!" she said. "The chief doesn't look too happy, does he?" She sounded amused.

Sisko and Jadzia watched as O'Brien threw his darts and Julian bounced happily on the balls of his feet as he awaited his next turn.

"He's come a long way over the last few months," Jadzia said. "Julian, I mean."

Sisko was sure that Jadzia had no idea exactly how far Julian had come. True, Julian still suffered from doubts and dark moods, and he had bad days, but they were becoming less frequent.

"Yes," said Sisko. "He has." He let his eyes slide over the crowd that was watching and applauding the match and then over the even larger throng of people who couldn't have cared less about what was going on in a dark corner of the bar. "And he's not the only one."

Julian must have won the match because O'Brien clapped him on the back as they exchanged a few words. Then O'Brien handed his darts over to Ensign McCauley.

Julian and the ensign began to play.

-=o=-

**The End**

-=o=-

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

Wow. I'm done. I still can't quite believe it.

Thank you so much for reading this monster. Over the months I have been posting this, I have appreciated every hit, view, review, favouriter and follower.

I started out writing this story just for myself but eventually, when I'd already done much of the writing and I knew how the story was going to end, I decided to share it. Perhaps it is a little odd, then, just how much I have appreciated all the support and cheerleading that my story and I have received. So, again, thank you all.

I've also appreciated all the suggestions readers have made (some of which I've used, and some of which are lodged in the back of my brain for possible use at some very vague future date), and all the typos Manuflipt has pointed out...which means that I am now leaving a more polished version of the story behind for any future readers.


End file.
